“How are you single?” asked Random Dude once at a party. I didn’t answer — I was too busy eyeing down the guy of my dreams in the other room with the girlfriend that wasn’t me.
My gynecologist told me that my abnormal pap could be caused by HPV or potentially cancerous cells in my cervix. Actually, maybe she didn’t mention HPV… or cancer… or maybe she did… or maybe I just googled abnormal pap and entered a virtual rabbit hole that ended at cervical cancer. Either way, I was thoroughly alarmed.
Since March of 2020, the whole world has undergone one thrilling, continuous, collective existential crisis. The plans we made, the future we pictured, it doesn’t exist anymore. We’re a generation of fucked up individuals, and we’re the ones who have to clean up this mess.
When I say that the class of 2020 is the future, I mean it. I mean it in the least cliché way possible, because it is us who has seen the best and worst of one another, and it will be us who courageously leads society into the new frontier.
When I do look up to the stars, I wonder if you’re looking up with me.
I feel like you are sometimes. I think we always know if we’re thinking of one another.
I’m 21 going on 22, and I believe that the best remedy to ail the realization that you’re nowhere near where you thought you’d be is through a carefully crafted playlist.
If we live in a world in which my brother exists, then not all men can be assholes.
Admittedly, I definitely had this coming. Karma was long due.