shelby asked if i cared if she threw away big pieces of one of my works i asked her to help me cut up. i said nah i didnt wanna know what she did to them, just cut it up. i watched as this bulky obnoxious space-occupying thing became more hand-held manageable pieces of colour and line. are you bored i asked. nah, she said, i'm cutting up this piece. good. i heard the rain falling outside, it was coming down pretty hard. we grabbed drinks and chairs and hung out on the porch. i watched as the rain pooled into puddles, raindrops jumping off the surface of the puddles, light being reflected off the wet streets and sidewalks. i belt greenday. she laughed and took a video. we walked back to hers when the rain got a little lighter. i told her i love her, and she said to text when i reached home. i listened to the sound of the rain, and strolled home. i never stroll. i always know where i need to get to and how to get there. today, i didn't. each step seemed heavy, and exhausted, and anxious all at the same time. the shadow of the umbrella made me feel like someone was following me. it was merely the shadow of the umbrella. i turned around to check, and saw a guy walking his dog. i kept walking. i turned the keys to unlock the door to my apartment. i texted shelby that i was home and sent her a song on spotify.
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