Hi. Him: I told you I was bad at chitchat. Right. That’s how you start a conversation. Hi.
Me: You’re not your money. Him: Then what am I? What is anyone?
Me: I is the hardest word to define. Him: Maybe you are what you can’t not be.
Me: Maybe. How’s the sky? Him: Great. Huge. Amazing.
Me: I like being outside at night. It gives me this weird feeling, like I’m homesick but not for home. It’s kind of a good feeling, though.
Him: I am drenched in that feeling at the moment. Are you outside? Me: I’m in bed.
Him: Light pollution makes naked eye stargazing suck here, but I can see all eight stars in the Big Dipper right now, if you include Alcor.
Me: What was shitty about your day? I watched the... and waited.
He wrote for a long time, and I imagined him typing and deleting, typing and deleting. Him: I’m all alone out here, I guess.
Me: What about Noah? Him: He’s all alone, too. That’s the worst part.
I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know how to make it stop hurting. He’s not doing any homework.
I can’t even get him to take a shower regularly. Like, he’s not a little kid. I can’t MAKE him do stuff.
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