Sometimes I want to die and sometimes I want to die antwood. (‘cept not really cuz I don’t like that band too much.) It’s hard to understand what to think. What’s true when you seem so 100% convinced in both instances? You love me and you want to leave me. You want to fuck me and you find me completely unfulfilling sexually. Sorry, that’s probably too harsh. But it hurts my soul to hear those things from your face and your voice. And I am weak against you. It is hard for me to hold that tiny spark of non-belief in such a moment. You are intense and convincing and I am mentally preparing to dial 911. Mentally preparing to depart from you and hope you will find sanctuary somewhere else. I am an atheist. apologist. A paper airplane. And then you exclaim your excitement over me. Over our bed and how happy you are to share it with me and I believe you. I am drunk and here and glad. I want to go to the beach tomorrow. I want to go to my place in New York. It’s free of renters for the next two weeks and maybe I can get a cheap flight out. I’ll take the train downtown.