shit bike

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.

Those floor to ceiling windows Geoff has in his office are great and all, very prestigious, perfect for gazing out at his kingdom, but they have to have come back to bite him at some point.

Surely there has been a moment when he’s staring out, halfway through updating Burnie on how things are going when in quick succession he spots one of his cars screaming down the road with a barrage of police in hot pursuit, in turn chased by what bizarrely appears to be motorcycle-drawn chariots, a series of parachutes popping in the distance as a distinctly familiar jet starts to plummet from the sky, and panicked civilians scattering every which way in the face of a lone tank rumbling down the plaza.

There must have been a moment when Geoff’s pressed his forehead to the cool glass, closed his eyes as Burnie chattered away unaware in his ear, and wondered when the fuck he lost control of his life. Also, how soon it would be possible to install blinds.