1The chapstick is sitting on my desk like linear regression (ax +b). Glitter, everywhere, contamination, nuclear waste, gum on the floor where my boyfriend threw it. He has no respect, no respect at all for my space, he doesn’t know what he wants, sometimes he just wants me.

And my desk is so chaotic, so cluttered like my thoughts that rattle through my head like heated up atoms. Am I forever? What are we? Temporary? Am I in love? I want him and miss him but how do I tell? Love means nothing. I am so confused. I am so disorganized.