Crisps on the bed, playlist up, someone doing a full face. We swear we are being sensible. Then the first round happens and plans die.
Tag: groupchat
Five opinions, three voice notes, one screenshot. By the time I text him I am not me. I am a committee in a tight dress.
Lipstick, voice note, a photo of him at the bar. Safety plan plus a rating. Nights out run on intel. The queue is real chat.
Times, trains, whose house after. I look organised. I am just frightened of being left in a doorway with nowhere to put this tired face.
We looked tight in the picture. On the platform it went quiet. That is the comedown. The story goes on the grid. Silence comes home.