Sometimes it happens. We feel alone, and maybe a bit depressed.
Sometimes we are to shy to just call someone to hang out. Sometimes it’s just too late, like 4 a.m.
4 a.m. is an horrible time for Miguel. He is still awake, he’s never gone to bed, and everyone else he knows is sleeping, and it’s far too early to wake them up.
So he just sits on his couch, with his knees pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around them, and he thinks about his day.
He thinks about all the laughs, all the smiles, all the jokes, he thinks about happiness, but it’s like these things happened to someone else.
His light-brown skin is kissed by the moon, while he closes his eyes and rest his head against the couch’s pillow.
He is a happy person, he really is. He loves hanging out with his friends, he chats a lot, he adores making jokes, he is always smiling and running up and down the streets to stay with as many people as he can. So he really is a happy person, or at least most people would say that.
But there are times, usually at night, where he just can’t stand himself and everything he does.
He feels useless, incapable, and it’s like his life is flowing between his fingers and he can do absolutely nothing about it.
Usually, half an hour later he starts crying. After five minutes he hates himself. And after ten minutes he has his phone in his hands and he’s composing Jasper’s number.
“What do you want, you fucking dumbass?? It’s almost fucking 5 a.m. how dare you call me? I was fucking sleeping, you moron! I swear I’m gonna–”
– I love you! –
Jasper knows what’s the matter. It happens almost five or six times per month. He has his eyes still closed, and he can barely think, but a little smile appears on his lips.
“… I love you too, idiot.”