Me and you, me and her, me and this typewriter, me and my bed, me and Axl Rose, me and my record collection, me and that girl I walked past on Mears street, me and coffee, me and this box of peppermint tea that’s empty but I still haven’t managed to recycle, me and the work, me and scales, me and the all consuming desire to write with complete improvisation, me and thinking about the end of the world, me and travel, me and being in Havana and thinking about how good this night would look to someone other than myself, me and my Doc Martens, me and depression, me and drinking, and me and deciding whether or not to end this sentence with a period or a comma.

Me and Rifflandia two years in a row, me and Victoria, me and old flames, me and the difference between the two locations of Discovery Coffee I go to, me and Dallas Beach, me and my Aunt Liz, me and my brother, me and all the guys at work, me and hotel room ashtrays, me and a rough weekend in Nisku, me and airport lobbies, me and the chairs in waiting rooms, me and my old high school memories, me and my insomnia, me the things that keep me up at night, me and the state of the world, me and my place in the world, me and current events, me and still buying newspapers, me and spending too much time looking at dumb shit on the internet, me and looking through books that I’m never going to read, me and my current reading list, me and thinking about travelling by train across China, me and feeling lost at parties, me at parties in general, me and not liking current music, me and looking through the discount bins at record stores, me and my local record store employee, me and poetry, me and trying to tell my friends that poetry isn’t pretentious, me and my hair, me and my wardrobe, me and being single for two years, me and my dating profiles, me and my phone, me and worrying about spending too much time on my phone, me and checking the mail on Sundays, me and the pictures on my instagram account, me and eating junk food for dinner, me and my diet, me and not eating, me and not responding to text messages, me and wishing Facebook didn’t tell people when I had seen their messages, and me and wishing that I could have a cat in my current apartment.

Me and my plants, me and thinking about the novel, me and trying to start the novel, me and cigarettes, me and being a straight white male and wondering if that means I have anything to contribute to the world of literature, me and my camera, me and worrying that I take shitty pictures of things that everybody has already seen, me and leaving my plants alone when I go out and travel, me and my problems with the band The Eagles, me and hoping that I get the window seat, me and forgetting to call all of my old friends, me and thinking that summer is the worst season, me and my opinions on the current presidential race, me and the sound of my own voice, me and worrying that I talk too much, me in moments of post intimacy worrying that I’m not saying anything, me and my horrible skills with intimacy, and me and worrying about dying alone.

And who says I’m single?

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