date night with the roommate or lesbian lover, who’s to say

Sunday nights are best spent with a can of Orchard Thieves in hand. Laid across your couch as Twin Peaks plays. Physically reacting every time special FBI agent Dale Cooper comes on screen. Who knew a full-grown man could be so cute?

Spent the morning laid across my bed. Legs tangled in uncovered bed sheets, as patches of my skin soaked in the sun-rays coming through the cracked open window. Spring is coming. Spring is a girl, and she will return.

Spring is a girl. Buried beneath the bitter, Baltic cold. She has been trying to shine through in the scattered few sunrises, fighting and pushing through the clouds. You can feel her. The random feeling on your legs. Skin soaking sun. Melting into her touch, just like you always do when she’s around. The comfort of it all. A feeling that never grows old. Despite the fact that I have met Spring twenty-one times, she never grows old. Always arriving with a youth look, warmth and a calm promise of change. Rebirth. Every time I fall into that feeling of comfort, the warmth and the promises. Promises that while Summer too will arrive, most of the growth and seeds of love start with Spring. She holds them close to her chest. Hands clasped around each promise as though she would fade away if broken.

Spring is a girl. Each time we meet is the same. I, on time, patiently await her arrival on my own. Her, always late and out of breath. Hands still clutched near her chest while rushing. Trying to make up for our lack of time. Warmth already emanates from her. Never heat, always warmth.

I digress, became overwhelmed with a cleaning mood. Spring cleaning, I suppose. Sorted my room and ventured out to the living space. Cleaning while blasting music through my headphones. [Redacted] was waving at me as they arrived home from work while I cleaned the windows. Finishing pieces. Ran to the little shop under my cosy college apartment to grab some pieces. The boring bits. Washing liquid, sponges and some smell thing to try to freshen up our kitchen. Not that I can smell. Haven’t been able to smell since COVID. Terrible thing. Great conversation topic. Lack of sense. [Redacted] says you need at least one sweet treat a day. With that in mind, picked up some chocolate and left a full bar outside of [Redacted’ s] door. Sweet treat for working so hard. Left my room open so they could come in if they pleased.

[Redacted] and I have developed this routine of [Redacted] coming into my room so we can rant and rave about our world. The people in it. Laughing in between, a fit of mania if you will. It’s comforting, knowing someone feels the same way you do. Felt somewhat insane last month, so it’s warming to remind me I’m not. Ran back down to the little shop because I swear to you, we give it too much business. What better way to celebrate a Sunday night than cans of Orchard Thieves? Overindulged and bought the overpriced, massive popcorn bucket because it’s called ‘cinema popcorn’. So, I immediately fell for the capitalism trap, instead of buying the regular €2 popcorn.

Had Twin Peaks on as we ate and drank because I still haven’t finished it. Over halfway through the second season. It might be becoming my favourite live-action show, but that’s hard to say when Interview with the Vampire is right there. I can’t wait for season 3.  [Redacted 2] and [Redacted 3] came home within seconds of each other during our second episode of the night. Drink heating my innards and trying not to laugh seeing how red [Redacted’ s] face was already, after one and a half cans. Laughed about [Redacted 2’ ]’s current love life. Actually happy with this fella so far. I’m glad for her. She’s sweet and deserves the love she gives, so it’s nice to finally see a man treat her as such.

This is what it’s all about. Sitting on our couches in our cosy college apartment, discussing our filthy St Patrick’s day plans with a can already in hand. Ignoring the fact I’d to be up at 5:30 am for work. At work, an elder gentleman said I was “too happy for a Monday morning”, saying I must have a lucky man at home. Flattered that this imaginary man would be considered lucky, but I couldn’t explain how there’s no man behind this. Rather, a couple of college students sitting around together on a Sunday night. Simple pleasures.