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a very weak patronus

19 May

In 2005, I had a staring contest with a boy I’d never met. Blue-Eyed Boy was cool. He wore jeans. A t-shirt, I guess. And shoes. He had hair. I really don’t remember much about the way he looked, but I vaguely recall the sensation of adoring someone from afar and imagining a romance I knew would destroy the daydream. But it was fun and easy and made mostly of adrenaline, like most of my favorite things.

I said all of that to distract myself from the fact that I am annoyed. Like, I don’t even want to talk about it. I just want to quit today and spend the rest of it in my closet with my laptop and the second half of season 2 of How I Met Your Mother. I am very good at hating the world and then myself and being devoured by Dementors when it’s two a.m. and I’ve accepted that I can’t sleep, I don’t deserve to sleep, and I actually might want to be held. Like, in the morning, or something when it’s less embarrassing.

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