Love, Audi

I have trouble saying my own name and yet no trouble saying yours.

I would call things and people by different names, we all would, if we could.

We all do when we’re inside ourselves.

I never really learnt how to say it and

whenever I give my name to the pizza place there’s always a question mark at the end of it

I am expecting them to say, “What?”

But I still brush my teeth every morning because I want to be a better person.

(We all measure happiness in displacement, by what gaps the things that leave us, leave)

(Try to try more times than you fail)

There’re so many stupid conferences you can go to

to learn how to sell stupid things to stupid people.

Everyone’s profile picture is just them with a shit-eating-grin

I don’t know what else it should be.

Maybe a picture of themselves with the thing that hurt them

so often the thing that hurts you is the thing that makes you human.

As you get older you miss people you didn’t think you would

that one popular kid from high school has had a child

(we were all kids once)

and you think, “Good for him.”

The guy who made my iPhone probably killed himself

I wonder if his ghost listens to my calls.

If he sends morse code messages over

the static on the line

if the call drops

he probably just doesn’t like what I’m saying.

None of us are so brave anymore.

Not because misery loves company

but because misery is so comfortable.

They’re building cars that drive themselves

one day a car will shoot itself in the bonnet

it’ll send a text to your smartwatch that says

“I’m so sorry, goodbye.

Love, Audi.”