Today only.

Today, at eleven-oh-three,

my manager will ask me to step into his office.

The conversation will last seven minutes.

This September, I'll lose my apartment.

In October, I'll move back in with my mother.

She'll say it's my fault,

that I've always been this way.

On my screen,

a message is being typed.

Three years ago, someone told me

I was overreacting.

My reply...

I remember writing it.

I remember deleting it.

I remember sending it.

But not what it said.

´

This winter will be cold.

The bridge will collapse.

The one that connects who I am

to who I thought I'd be.

I should reply.

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

The message doesn't come.

I press a button.

At fourteen,

I forgot a line during a presentation.

I know my mother remembers it.

And I do.

The message still doesn't appear.

The meeting is still waiting for me.

The apartment is still mine.

Nothing has collapsed.

My phone finally vibrates.

Message loading.

For one entire second

my future stops.

The message unfolds.

40% off.

Today only.