I don't know what the temperature was the other night where you live, but it was COLD in Atlanta. The real chill, however, came from being single and over 30 during a night when I should have been roasting chestnuts with a hottie.
So I did the unhealthy, emotionally draining thing that I do all the time when I am lonely: I went through my phone, eager to text one of my merry band of losers when I remembered: like an idiot, I had erased all their numbers! I blame Instagram, getting me all hyped up on that 'new year, new you' BS. More like BM! Who am I kidding? I am the same emotional, overwhelmed, confused person I am romanticly that I was when I was 13 in love with my gay boyfriend. There is no new me!
Disappointed, I laid back and put in my headbuds, prepared for Spotify to rock me to sleep. And somehow, someway, as I fell deeper into the playlist hole, I ended up fully engaged in an endless stream of Drake. In the story of our love, I will pinpoint this as the beginning of our romance.
I have always been aware of Drake, like I have always been aware of table corners and broken glass. He was on my radar briefly when he said "BBW" in a song, but then away he went again. I found him to be very whiney, and I was freaked out when he did that exhausting love speech to Rihanna at that award show.
But listening to his music, late and alone, during the longest wintry night in the A, I felt like I'd known him forever. All these years, from So Far Gone to More Life, he has been bellyaching about the same things I have here: unrequited love, love lost, crushes, crushes gone bad, friend issues, absent dads, etc. It's like he has been reading my journal or something!
"I think that Drake is my soulmate," I told Gia Tortilla during one of our hours-long talks about nothing. I then explained to her why I felt this way.
"Maybe he would be a good boyfriend for me too!" she exclaimed.
Sigh. That's what I get for introducing my new man to my hot, old friend too soon.
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