Tuesday, August 14, 2012

i wrote this letter before i typed it, just so you know

Even with my middle ear ringing and pain-pulsing, him with the pickles and the icecream and shorts is perfect, even hungry or in pain or frustrated, I don't want it any other way. I don't get sick of it. I get sicker, I get sickened, I got a sickness called cosy with compatable, good things are keeping going. Similar interests but different methods (like counting spiders vs. flicking ants), spectrum spfs but sunscreen application all the same, springtime is here and it's here to stay cuz it's comfy. Hearing him giggle like someone I babysit and frown while getting to business (loud noises of concentration, magic happens), this I soak in like caffeine. Ridiculous comment though the other sunday afternoon, about me going to Berlin and maybe not liking it, and then where would we be. Already know I'm gonna dig it, dig into it, unfold onto it like a ripened piece of peach, fuzz included, it's in the lines of our palms baby, it's all gonna go according to plan, like an accordian, played underground, the sound winding through and into our pulse before we round the corner, center the music in our vision.

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