she said that it is sweet i still talk to her like a real person when she’s on her ambien.

this is not true for all the people i talk to on the internet at 3am that tell me bad things, or even the people, the ones i spend the night in their bed while they’re drunk, telling me about how they are really desperate that their dad might die of withdrawl in rehab, and i keep pestering because i just want to get good stories out of them and i know that i’ll just stay up late either writing in the notebook i brought with me (because i bring notebooks to parties) or text myself what i want to remember until the battery runs dry, sunlight comes, and i leave their bed like a ghost because i never wanted to have sex with them, or use them like that because i’d rather spare the morning after story i am always graced with being the first to hear.

too many nights i’ve heard them come back and say, “YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT I DID LAST NIGHT” and they’ll proceed to repeat all of the story that i was there for (because i’m a ghost in people’s memories as well, but i love it, well more like learned to love it and abuse it) up until the part with the sex, but lets be honest, when you close that door after bumming me a cigarette mouthing “just let me fuck him” because your best friend spends every night in your bed protecting you, i’d rather not fuck your lifeless body.

especially after you told me about all that shit and your dad being in rehab. and no, your sister shouldn’t be dating a black guy in prison. 

sad thing is at the end of the day i don’t have anything to write about your life abbi, just the sick things i do to protect and abuse one of my best friends. and you’re not even the one who taught me not to cross the line. she’s unspeakable.