10:56

 At 11:56 PM, you lit a cigarette. You waited for 5 hours — someone will text. There's Instagram and there's Snapchat. The WhatsApp icon with it's Chris Hemsworth Jawline-like Phone symbol isn't ringing. You have stayed up this late and you have already followed all the rules that 700 self-help books and Andrew Tate told you in his Billion Dollar accent — "The trick to impress everyone". It should have worked by now. Someone should have asked you about your dinner plans and if you like to watch rains. The girl you threw a candy bar at in highschool is getting married and she hasn't invited you - but that was before you learnt to become Alpha. You are now cool. The Heath Ledger. You have checked your phone 78 times now and your mother has called you 50 times and your dad is tired of you tiring your mother who is tired because you are tired. So you light another cigarette and you stand in your balcony and watch a dusty city rusting itself under the spit of its people who have 5 dating profiles and 1 bedroom with a single cot. You yell into the sky — how to let go of this loneliness? You have tried to redo your fashion but you are fucking bankrupt. There's a girl you like and there's a girl who hates you but there's this one friend who calls you up every time he runs out of money. What is it that everyone else has figured out? Do they have better followers count? You wonder and it's raining. Suddenly you are more alone. A single street lamp flickering in between the droplets and a gust of wind crashes into your face. You are sobbing. There there. There's the broken heart. You smoke through the rain again. Oh boy, there's a bing on your phone. It's 3:05 AM. Finally somebody remembered you. Somebody cared. Someone it must be. The rain is stopping. It's sunlight time. Fuck. It's your WiFi bill. What a miserable sad little bastard you are. Fuck Tate. Fuck