XL. Hazmat Suit

The Little Martian nudges me in my side and tells me to let it go.

"It isn’t worth it” he murmurs, all solemn

My stomach ties itself into a familiar knot and I let my coffee grow cold on my desk

I let it drown me for a moment, the familiar pang.

I feel terrible for a moment or two, as I marinate in self-pity

I look out the window, I check my phone

I almost manufacture a tear or two

FLUMP!

The martian tosses a big red pillow in my face and slaps his thigh emphatically against his purple hazmat suit

“Where’d the hazmat suit come from ?” I ask, curious through my haze of distorted longing

“ Don’t want to catch those again” he grounds out

“Catch what? “

“feelings.”

I snort.