Her voice is like the wind flowing through my hair,
it’s there but I’m not paying it any attention.
I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of me,
the water to the left glistening with amusement at my intoxication.
The night is like a movie on a scratched disc,
it’s there but it’s missing every 10th frame.
I’m here but I’m also somewhere else,
with the last time I saw him on replay.
Our friendship was like the glass half empty on my nightstand,
a symbol of pessimism,
not full, missing something;
the part where he cared about me.
Why won’t he care about me?
Like optimism, it’s missing information,
why did he do that to me?