I left Kaelin's at 12. I thought I would go to sleep when I got home right away. I stayed up until 6 am instead. Doing...what? Looking through forums to relate. Looking for music nonstop. Listening to the Wale station on pandora and trying to write out my thoughts. Putting together a playlist to beat my muscles up to. I'm doing pretty good. Tired, but good. I think about you a lot less but you still show up.
I was making a quesadilla and noticed one of the pictures from my fridge randomly fell off. My brother as a baby looking absofuckinglutely delighted that he's holding a baby chick and my mom equally as excited by his reaction. I look under and between all kitchen crevices and can't find it. I look for other pictures to put up and find the folded piece of paper with your number on it and the valentine you made for me. I knew those were in there but it was a pandora's box of sorts for me to open (droppin the pandora word again). I unfolded the paper and looked at your number and how you wrote your name and I held it there. I thought about saying things. My self esteem says no thank you but my heart says not to close the door. Sometimes I feel like I leave too many doors or small windows of forgiveness and hope open though and this means that they (lovers, suitors, douches, gentleman callers) all come when I'm not ready. Isn't that always the case? Maybe not. Eventually. I've heard more than once people tell me it's the idea of love I'm in love with. That idea looked pretty good on you though.
So while I'm looking through all this, sorting physically and mentally, I start to smell burning. Fuck! The top half of my quesadilla is burnt as shit. A black crispy frisbee. I spatula off this plagued top of the quesadilla and fold over the still decent bottom half. Oh well. Solve and make due. Move on. Not what I thought but still alright. The next quesadilla will be bettter riiiiiight? God it's annoying how often I think in metaphors.