She had him thinking all kindsa new stuff about his horoscopic chart, his lunar leanings. His tarot tendencies.

But realizing things about his temperamental patterns, based on his concrete actions, his tangible decisions, also.

Patterns he fell into over and over.

Wanting this from women initially, recoiling when that happened, before wanting to flee when that and that happened.

This sharing permitted, even encouraged, me to consider my own patterns.

To even recognize, in the first place, that patterns were created by tangible actions.

I wanted autonomous bae when she didn’t want me, pushed her away once she did, and only started wanting her again once she stopped wanting me again.

I still saw ex bae as the central star all other planetary baes orbited.

Last I’d seen autonomous bae, I’d drunkenly, bitterly ranted to her about ex bae, to which she’d snapped and went It’s been two years! Get over it. I seriously think you’re never gonna.

Explaining all this to V felt more urgent than writing Fuccboi.

Only—explaining all this to V was writing Fuccboi.

Geeked off this epiphany, I merked the coffee I was on how late that night nearing dawn first glimmers of sun glimmering the rain mellowing the field pocked with plant carcass piles on tarps like lil pillage fires all over that late-battle battlefield surreality surrounded by fallen flower comrades mouths dry clothes rain-sweat-soaked damp and chilling—

Nabbed a new leaf from inside my typewriter case’s inner sleeve J hopping out of his pickup he’d driven up the hill coming over saying Had to let these bitches get as fat as we could, and now we gotta save em, me and V nodding like Damn straight—

And slid her in.

Got to typing.

Banging on those keys hard bc the ribbon so old.

Till, halfway through the first page, she crapped out.

Jammed up.

Got all up in there and started toggling nobs we didn’t save em all, but we tried with the baby flathead I kept on deck specifically for toggling nobs with, whenever my typewriter jammed.

No dice on the toggling.

Nor with tryna shake her back into action.

But I knew exactly what came next in my letter. Any more stalling and I’d forget.

So yanked the leaf outta there, grabbed a uni-ball, and the ones we couldn’t save, that had fallen beyond the point of saving, we had to let go kept handwriting on the same side, where I’d left off.

Could only say so much in the letter though, before it literally became a Fuccboi chapter.

A Fuccboi chapter meant saying everything, including things I couldn’t to V.

Or—including things I would need time and consideration and editing in order to muster up the courage to.

So once I’d said enough, I folded it up, stuck it into an envelope, and stamped it.