SATURDAY, AUGUST 15th, 2020
 i closed my eyes, summer breeze and my boy's voice. he speaks of childhood and betrayal. "why did you cry, if not from guilt?" i've been wondering for three months and twenty nine days. he speaks of death and rock stars and the forest. "suicidal people don't just claim they're suicidal." he comes with cigarette smoke and a pretty girl that doesn't exist, she said i was a hellraiser yesterday. i talked to a real girl, too, about sugar cookies and entrails.
 my father then discussed ammunition with him. between broken english and a seemingly endless flow of german firearm manufacturer names, he managed to keep up (kind of.) i never thought about how much easier it's been to like my father ever since he's been around.
 i fell asleep to the clicking of his controller that night, i dreamt of a bus that smelled like lavander and was headed towards a cliff.