I’m writing a hilariously terrible poem in which the northeastern waves (the tide’s violent rejoinder) are a metaphor for how alone I (the frothy, floating foam) feel as the sole insomniac in this home. I’m probably going to drop out of school to become a poet. I’m really good at it. That’s a lie. But I will get an A+ in Creative Writing! Probably. Maybe. If I don’t fail out of it.
Anyway, I was going to tell you about all of this (my hilariously hideous 2AM poetry skills) via textual message, but your phone is on and I care enough not to wake you up. I would have written it all on a sticky note affixed to the bathroom mirror (my preferred mode of note sharing, as you know) but I don’t think I have enough sticky notes. I would have sent you an email, but you have three million accounts and I can’t keep them all straight. So I’m writing you a blog post. I would apologize that your introduction to my blog isn’t more…well, poetic, but I’m not sorry on account of YOU ARE SLEEPING AND I AM AWAKE AND LONELY.
I hope you are having sweet dreams.
PS: Avery thinks my poetry is beautiful. I know this because he is sleeping next to me, and every so often he wakes up and gives me a look that says, “If I were a human, I would wear all black and snap my fingers after you read your poems, but I am not a human and cannot snap so I will instead give you the full benefit of my sad sad eyes.”