i stayed up late the night before the date. what i wanted was certainty, instead i got lost on my way to the restaurant. i didn't account for traffic. my hair was mangled—robins circled me trying to burrow their way into my scalp. you laughed when i asked you where you see yourself later in life. the food came out cold. i knew this would happen, you tell me. but why didn't you stop it from happening? i don't ask. you know too much. weather reports for tomorrow, for 14 days after tomorrow. you tell me about the next major seismic event, say: you have nothing to worry about. i repeat that over and over to myself on the drive home.

while lying in bed i make promises to myself:

i won't think of you, and then think of you, and then imagine a world where i don't think of you.

i won't know what tomorrow brings, and i can't stand that.

.