A Love Letter: Thank You for Drunk Snapping Me It Lets Me Know You Care
Dear friend who drunk snapchatted me right as they blacked out,
Thank you – it lets me know you care. When I finally lay in bed at 11 p.m. after hitting hour three of staring at the rotting limes on my kitchen counter while listening to “Nobody” by Mitski on loop, getting those little red and purple cubes from that certain special someone taking on the town are my literal lights in the dark. To know that I somehow crossed your blitzed brain when skimming your friends list really warms my heart, especially when we haven't sent each other anything for two weeks, or maybe two hours. I’m not really sure where we are anymore.
The minute-long video of you blacked out dancing to a dubstep remix of “Closing Time” by Semisonic in the middle of The Strip was something too spectacular to be saved away for your finsta, but still too intimate for a story that 211 of your closest friends could screen record at a moment's notice; it was something just for me. I still remember hearing you scream through the music to let me know that you're safe and engaging in wild political conversation. To know that you look to me for approval when you call some guy we all know you shouldn’t call or just to share an excellent drunk pee warms my cold, two-sizes-too-small heart.
I hope you’re having a safe night out. While I have a little FOMO from not having been invited to "Kenneth's A Star is Born Maltz" on Facebook, it looks like you're having fun and don’t currently need to be hospitalized just yet. The riveting, five-snap series of you throwing up ten times is so much better than some guy from high school sending me unsolicited videos of himself playing the guitar shirtless. It’s so much better than the regular Friday-night fare, whether that be a 144p quality documentary from a local concert that's actually just 60 seconds of unintelligible music and really bright lights or something “Shared From Camera Roll.” And it doesn’t hurt my feelings nearly as much as someone sending me the same snap they sent the group because they forgot Jessica had made them add me to “be nice.”
Instead, the first thing I opened up in the climax of my depressive episode was you, drunk, thinking of me. You won’t see this until you wake up at 3 p.m. next Monday, but watching you yell at your friends on camera about stealing your Juul was the highlight of my night. Though you may not be my official-official Valentine, the screen recordings of you hammered and trying to take a video of yourself using just your toes speaks volumes. What more could I ask for?