why the good conversations only happen after midnight, and what i do with the ones that stay with me.
there's a version of me that exists between midnight and three. she's slower. she reads things twice. she doesn't pretend to be busy.
if you've ever caught me at that hour you already know. the replies get longer. the questions get weirder. i'll ask what you wanted to be when you were nine and then actually wait for the answer.
the daytime version is a liar
not a bad one. just tidy. daytime me answers in one line, sends a photo, keeps it moving. she's efficient and everybody likes her fine.
but the ones i remember are never the efficient ones. they're the guy who told me about his grandmother's kitchen at 1:40am. the one who admitted he'd been reading my page for a month before he said hi. the one who typed "nevermind" and then, when i said say it, said it.
what i do with those
i keep them. not in a creepy way. in the way you keep a song someone put on for you.
some of them turn into these entries. most of them just sit there and change how i answer the next person a little.
if you're reading this at 2am
then you know exactly what i'm talking about, and you also know where i actually am at this hour. it isn't here.
come find me. bring the weird question.