february

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friday, february 11th, 2020. 4:06 am.
cooper

i never knew rum would taste that nice with coke. i always hated it, but you know that already.
how have you been? haven't caught up in a while.

i've been okay. dealing. processing.
i guess.

cooper looks to his side, and gazes far off into the distance. the dark blue sky was now nearly a black void and the stars were more visible than ever in the midst of it.

the drug-induced man had managed to climb his roof to write the second letter, holding his stationery tightly by his side so that the wind doesn't blow it away.

it was still a bit chilly, after all, and all he had on were some joggers and a navy blue woolen sweater.

weed helps me relax. it helps me numb myself.
it helps me hallucinate.

it's like you're there with me, when i'm high, you know? you're like this pretty, pretty little angel in the sky that's reaching out their hand to lead me away with them, and just when i'm about to take it, everything gets washed away by my consciousness.

he takes a sip of clear rum, ignoring the coke that usually followed. scrunching up his nose, cooper was about to lean back to the floor, where he laid for a few hours prior, but picked up his pen once more.

delirious and jittery, cooper continued writing.

i hung out with griffin and sam. they forced me out, and didn't mention a word of what happened. that was nice of them, i guess.

joko was there too. he came with amanda.

i've never wanted to punch a man more in my life than right there and then.

a weary, foolish scowl appeared unconsciously on cooper's face as he took a hard glance at what he just wrote, his brain replaying the unwanted memory of earlier that day again and again.

with a low-pitched growl he took the pen and broke it into two, throwing the pieces off the edge of the roof. he yelled out once more, right into the sky, in hopes for any response - attention - but all he got back was a faint dog bark in the distance, and a turning on light.

he knew it was time to go, right at the chest pain began and his breathing got heavy, but he didn't come down. the more he counted in hopes to control himself, the more he shook, and the numbers were flying out rapidly from his mouth. he put his arm on his chest, clenching a tight fist around the sweater, and pushed his back onto the cold, tiled roof.

within an instant, the world seemed still.

he laid there, staring at the stars, with a cold hand around his heart, practicing gaining control over his breathing. before he could recognise his attack's end, the boy was fast asleep, lying alone on a lonely roof in san diego, dreaming of the angel that he wished would come back down to earth.

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