Today,
I had just finished packing my bags for the trip. After spending hours looking through my stuff, I think I finally got everything.
"Mum? Can you check my bags?" I asked.
My parents always have to check everything for me because as I might've shared earlier, I'm very forgetful. And I mean, VERY forgetful.
"Mike? You know you're going to Toronto, right? Where are your sweaters?" is what mom told me. Oh fuck, of course, sweaters.
And eventually I finished packing for the trip. My mind started to drift off again. To what is real and what is fake.
It's questions like that that keep me awake at night. They block me from dreaming. They block me from living. But it's also thinking that keeps me from falling.
Tomorrow, well, today we'll get on the plane to Canada. I just came home after work to Isabel, crying on my bed. "What's wrong baby?" I asked. "Really, Micheal? Are you fucking serious? I can't miss you for this long!" I'm going away for five days.
So naturally, I just told her I can. Wrong move. Whoops.
"You can? You can? Oh my fucking God Michael. We're over."
So, we're over. Whatever, I never loved her anyway. So fucking dramatic.
Mom yelled at me for making her that upset. I told her to piss off.
And now i'm smoking cigarettes in my room next to the window. Fuck this shit. We're leaving in 2 hours and I haven't slept yet.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Forget About The Stars
Short Story"Don't forget about the stars" he said. "They'll be the only thing left of us once we drift apart. Because wherever you are, and wherever I am, we can both see the sky at night".
