Entry 34 || Bad night

It’s been a while.

Sorry, it’s just another one of those nights.

It’s currently 2:29am of May 25th, 2025. I’m at my sister’s condominium on the 30th floor, lying on a covered hard mattress on the floor. To my right is her bed where she comfortably sleeps, to the left is a small electric fan, and above my head is the air conditioner (that is fortunately off).

And I am crying.

I don’t usually open my instagram messages mainly because I get overwhelmed from the tons and tons of shared reels and replies to my stories. I never gave any of those messages and reels a second thought other than “oh, another one.”

Mind you, these unread messages range from weeks to months, but it’s not like people send messages with any deeper purpose or meaning. After all, they’re just replies and reels. People just send those stuff because they wanna show and say stuff. That’s all there is to it. Just “stuff.” And I sometimes hate stuff.

But I was never really sure why people sent me stuff specifically, and I always wondered why they continued to do so despite my toxic habit of never bothering to open people’s messages. If anything, they’re wasting their time, and I hate that people waste their time.

I accidentally misclicked and opened one a few minutes ago. “Fuck,” I casually whispered to myself, and I took a brief look on the post they sent me: compiled pictures of random water parks, arcades, ball pits, etc., all that fun stuff. A little nostalgic, I should admit, but nothing of the sort that I haven’t seen anywhere.

I then noticed the text in the middle.

“This & my fav person”

Favorite… person?

What did they mean by that?

Me?

Am I their favorite person?

I mean, surely not. It’s just a post they probably sent to multiple people to make them believe they’re “favorites.” It’s nothing special.

Why would they want me to believe that?

I can’t be a favorite.

Yet I am?

How?

Why?

Why are you sending this stuff to me?

Do you even know what I am?

Do you even realize that I’m a rude person who doesn’t reply to your messages?

I hate that.

But whatever. Just to reply back politely, I sent a funny reaction image of a poorly drawn person smiling cutely, along with a reel of two animated stickmen yelling “I love you” to each other in the most erratic way possible.

They replied back.

“LUV U TOO”

What?

I scroll up to see the past reels they’ve been sending—funny images with captions that read along the lines of,

“You’re cool, please don’t get bald”

“Case nobody asked you today: how was ur day?”

“hai. i miss you. pls. teleport. oki. bai”

“I miss you a little extra whe- NOOO I MISS YOU EVERYDAY, EVERY DAMN SECOND OF THE DAY”

… what?

Have I been blatantly ignoring this stuff?

They’re just stuff.

They’re messages.

Stuff.

They’re a language.

Stuff.

They’re speaking to you.

Stuff.

They’re letting you know

Stuff.

“I love you”

“and I miss you a lot”

“and want you to know that”

“because you deserve to know that.”

I still don’t fully understand it, nor can I still properly grasp the fact that people can feel that way towards me when I can’t even reciprocate the feeling as effectively,

but whatever it’s making me feel,

it’s nice.

Fluffy.

It’s fluffy, like a cloud or a soft dream.

Fluffier than the fluffiest dog, cat, sheep, or stuffed animal in the whole planet.

And I feel this urge to hold onto it forever and ever.

I don’t want to ignore this.

I don’t want to neglect this.

I don’t to deny this.

I don’t want to let this go.

I want to love.

It’s currently 3:14am of May 25th, 2025.

I’ll be reading other people’s instagram messages later.

Maybe all this fluff isn’t so bad.