I have a weak heart. While the organ itself is medically sound — blood pumps through my body, uninterrupted — occasionally my entire body gets weak with frustration and fatigue. Sometimes it's because I don't drink enough water, and I stay up too late. Though mainly, I'm plagued by an incurable exhaustion, the kind that can only be triggered by a man known as Frank Ocean.

At 11 p.m. last night, I had work to do. Earlier in the day, I'd sent apologetic texts to two separate friends, canceling two sets of plans I'd made. I wanted to get up early the next morning, and other responsibilities needed my attention. I had some Instagram stalking to catch up on and dishes to wash. So why, at 11 p.m. last night, was I watching this man named Frank Ocean do manual labor?

And that's exactly what Ocean was doing: The livestream that was supposed to deliver Boys Don't Cry, his long-awaited second album, was suddenly active again. Through tweets and texts, I got messages from friends; most of us were afraid to hope again. Is this real? Is this it? Is this new? Is this him?

On social media, we refer to the man casually as "Frank." As in: "Frank, where the album?" "Frank, where you at?" And, "Yo, but when's Frank dropping?" etc. Formality slips away when you've been waiting four years for the follow-up to an album as magnificent as Channel Orange. It's only ballooned into more of a wonder since its release: each song bleeds into the next, laying bare his loneliness and confusion, desperation and desire. Channel Orange balanced a unique sound that was both lighthearted and emotionally dark. Frank etched out a whole new way for Black masculinity to operate in this world. He wrote love songs about men and sang about strippers with a devotion that approached reverence. And then he vanished, conjuring up beats and verses from behind the scenes.

Except it would have been easier if he'd only vanished. He was no longer front-facing, but forever teasing us. Like clockwork, rumors sprang up every few months. "His new album is dropping today... For real this time!" someone would say. Online I saw people share a supposed confirmation of the release via The New York Times. "Y'all can share that NYT story ab new Frank Ocean every hour until midnight Friday, but I won't believe anything until it's in my damn ears," I tweeted. Then 11:59 p.m. Friday came, and there wasn't any new material to hear.