And when you’ve run out of every social media platform to browse (3 times over— there are always new updates) and reread that poem just so you can taste the words again and set your alarms for tomorrow and clicked the button of darkness on your phone, there is still no escape from the iterations in your mind as you traverse and traverse all the things you didn’t do, and could’ve done, and things that could’ve been but went up in smoke like a Snapchat, and that gnawing ache you can’t explain will somehow creep its way into your bed, and you will tell yourself it’s all in your head and it is it is, but that’s the whole problem— everything is in your head and nothing ever becomes reality.


2 thoughts on “Loops

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