Walking Away

The divorce rate has sent my self indulgent, millennial heart into a tail spin, and I'm unsure if love can subsist, although I find myself lost on cloud nine. What's the square root of two? I bet it's not unity. My brother made a run for the hills, chasing metallic, white powder that was more enticing then life could be. I followed after him. Hopeful, yet stagnant. In the end, I wish I could see him again, but my poor millennial heart is lost in how many likes I can get, and bhakti chai tea. Remember how Mufasa died? I'll have better luck with strangers. I haven't chased my brother since the last attempt. I don't want to keep climbing back up over the ledge. So keep smashing that bottle of your favorite, cheap McCormick's over the head of your least favorite employee, while mocking the rest of us for our lack of ethic in the work place. We only just spent thirty-five thousand dollars to earn a piece of paper, saying we can do what we don't have experience in. My poor millennial heart. Prejudged, but I'll keep my head down, so I'll never have to hear about how bad socialism, immigrants, or Planned Parenthood is, ever, again.