I set my alarm last night for the first time in months. You said you don’t want the responsibility of making sure I am awake. 6:30 AM – ambitious, but… you never know.
They went off, askew - our iPhone clocks apparently misaligned. A soft jingle rang from underneath my pillow – foreign, interrupting my restless dream – and, a solid ten seconds later, the familiar refrain, vibrating from your nightstand. We hit snooze, independently and ten seconds apart. Three more times or six, I guess.
Time is time; but even our time is crooked. Maybe one of us is a ghost who haunts this house, living out a day in our past, a hiccup away. It would be better; it might make sense. We haunt one another – seeing but not seeing, speaking but never hearing. Reaching and knowing the distance is growing.
If we could breach the wormhole, we could make it real. Remember when we used to make out? Remember the trampoline? The sunrise on the parking garage? Moments when our ghosts would converge, and our meeting made us human.
I’m saying –
bump into me
let’s mess things up a little.
I’m saying – I’m tired of living parallel lives.