I look at your face when I pee.
I don’t know what the measure of success is but I thought maybe you’d want to learn that information.
I figured you’d want to know that at this one place that I go to about three times a year, there is a poster with you on it and it always makes me introspective.
I think about that time you came to my 17th birthday party and were puking in the bathroom before it even started. I didn’t know you. I still don’t. If you puking was the measure of success, my party was average. You were known for puking.
Your boyfriend is on the poster too. Is it weird that I recognize his face more than yours? I think that says something about how I relate to men and women. It should probably make me sad. But it really just makes me wonder if I’ll ever find someone I want to be with for as long as you’ve been with him. And not in a jealous, longing way. But more in a “is that something I’m capable of” kind of way. Because like, forever is a long time. And even though “forever” gets smaller and smaller as I get older, it still feels just as big as it did when I was 7 years old professing to Angela that we’d be best friends forever. That turned out to be untrue. And I have a feeling any forever I was able to muster at this point would have the same fate. Side note: Angela, if you’re reading this, you were my best friend for a time and that time was cool.
Cool like the toilet seat that holds up my cheeks as I remember some girl that went to my High School. We’re bonded in a weird way. Bonded in a way unbeknownst to you. By toilets. Your face in my toilet at seventeen, my bum on a toilet at thirty-one while I stare at your face. Full porcelain circle.