Smallhouse Log

after Friday

M~~: you make me so mad sometimes
A~~: imagen four days of me dodging questions
A~~: your gonna kill me
M~~: not if i tie you down to my bed and not let you up until you answer me everything
M~~: wait, that came out wrong
M~~: i know what you're thinking, that's not what i ment
M~~: are you laughing?

I was laughing. No, that's not me. And, yes, I could be killed for what I've done. I just watched a beautiful movie, and I want stuff like this, random and carefree and dark. Give me a night in Sioux Falls, give me a rock show, give me the end of a party. Give me everything I've ever dreamed of condensed into one person, one dark-haired girl with a dead moon off her eyes and lips that curl so softly. Give me anything that can't be bought, counted, or labeled "Made in the USA". I want her. Not Vanessa, not Lisa, not Karly, not Amanda, but the best parts of all of them, the perfect woman, the ideal: Night coalesced into soft, warm skin to touch my arms. If this weren't prose, it would be poetry.

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