Right now all I believe in is this:

the smooth plastic mat slightly cool under my bare feet and the hard edge of the desk on my forehead.

the sounds of a fan. The sounds of this song coming puny through the small speaker in front of me.

the taste of alcohol drowning in sugar drowning in my gut. the alcohol and carbonation mixing with my bile.

the smell of lavender on my own clothing, there for no reason.

in front of me katie's desk barely lit. light falling on my knees. pictures of her family. notes I've left her on this calendar. I can create more things to see with this sharpie. I can create reality.

If you aren't part of those things that I call reality, I don't believe in you.