I think I died sometime around 2019 (3)

Part 1 -- 

Part 2--

Am I boring you? Do you regret coming here with me?

Do I smell weird? I’ve been outside the whole day; I must smell weird.

You keep glancing at your phone. Do you have somewhere to be? Am I keeping you?

I’m sorry. I wish I were more interesting.

Anxiety was a strange beast. Even back then, when I remembered myself as a “better version” of whatever it is I am today, She never left my side. She has been an eternal companion throughout my life. Sometimes She’d be quiet, watching timidly from the shadows, but more often than not, She was loud, relentless, and horribly oppressive.

More importantly, there was no getting rid of Her. She was a part of me.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to speak, nursing the hot coffee between my hands:

-"So, uh, what do you do for a living?"

She glanced up from her phone with a little grin, and stared at me with those eyes. Time halted for a split second, and even She stopped talking, probably just as mesmerized as me.

-"You really suck at this.” She replied with a smirk, casually sipping on her iced tea as she eyed me with raised eyebrows.

I laughed apologetically. 

-“No really, I’m curious.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m something of a journalist.” Then, after a pause: “Well, not really. I wasn’t good enough to be a journalist, so now I write shitty little articles for a random gossip magazine you’ve never heard of.”

She laughed loudly. I realized how little seriously she took herself, and it only made my strange affection for her grow a little bit more.

- “That can’t be true. I’m sure you’re at least an average journalist.

- I’m so not. I can’t write for shit.” She replied, amused.

She glanced in her phone, then added:

-"No.

-No? I replied, confused.

- No, I’m not showing you.”

We smiled at each other. I thought about it for a minute.

- “But like, why do you think that? Is it a vocabulary thing? Do you make a lot of typos?

She stayed silent for a few seconds.

-"No, you dumbass. That’s not what I meant. I don’t make TYPOS. We have software for that in this part of the world. You’ll get there eventually, when you figure out how to get out of the savanna.”

She touches my hand briefly, as if worried she actually offended me. I nodded with a smile. None taken.

- “It’s a bit difficult to explain.” She continues, retracting her hand and taking another sip of her drink. “And this conversation would probably go better if we’re both high. Otherwise it’s a little embarrassing.”

- “Well, I’m not opposed to the idea.” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. My heart was pounding. The only drugs I'd ever seen were on the random cop TV shows I watched “ironically” to pass the time.

She watched my face carefully, then burst out laughing.

- “That's adorable. How have you never gotten high before?”

 

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