Like.
They're in the dryer.
There's just none on my bed.
I'm gonna say that must mean something.
But I also have been out every night since it happened.
This social butterfly is one satisfied flame enveloped moth.
I'm not really sure what happened.
Let me rephrase.
IM WELL AWARE OF WHAT HAPPENED I WAS THERE
But when something random as fuck happens you're left feeling a little like, what exactly WAS that?
Or W H Y was that?
Like
HooOoOoOOow??
My life was like Pow•Pow•Pow
Smacks to the heart
And then amidst the rampant rejection
"I HAVE NO DESIRE TO SEE YOU OR TALK ABOUT THINGS"
Thus saith the Sheldon
But that one crazy bastard popped up at just the right moment to blow my mind.
Well.
Pop up isn't the right phrase
Exactly.
But all I can say is--
Did he really always drink vodka? It like, bothers me that I didn't remember that.
Relationships in my life are having these catastrophic yin & yangs.
People are leaving my life in violent flurries and simultaneously new folks are entering with all the intensity of love that blossoms after 4 years not our mere 4 hours.
I am flooded with members of my lost tribe.
It almost makes it --easy?---that those I've lost have gone cursing my name into the night.
No.
Not easy.
I want every motherfucker to like me.
But god.
There is nothing like Being Worshipped to no longer give a shit about anyone who thinks so little of you.
It was sort of like being visited by my Fairy Orgasm Maker.
He's not gonna like that I called him a fairy.
You know, it's like fairy godmother? But like, the fairy labia doctor? Wow. This is getting awkward.
I would like to have him on call for those heart shattering emergencies like finding out that stupid penis I was so obsessed with has a new girlfriend.
I am So. Happy. For you. I wish you every. Happiness.
Or
May your perfect dick fall off and may she sleep with your father.
Namaste.
Moments that are both ridiculous and serious are kind of game changers.
You're like in this moment and see it one way--outside yourself--looking down, nearly laughing at the absurdity of your actions--and then a breath--and suddenly none of it's funny--it's real. Extremely, overwhelmingly real. And the flood of it all barrels down on you, with such force. And intensity. The way you used to hope for things. These things. And how you hadn't even remembered any of it for ages. Days. Years. And maybe no longer needing it made it conjure up out of smoky air.
And all at once it's all hazy.
And clear.
And finished.
And forever still writing your story.
Because songs will always play.
And so he'll always think of you.
Of me.
My smell.
The intoxicating air that drowns us.
And I don't need any of it.
Time has proven its erratic indifference.
And yet.
I did.
And I will.
And there are so many.
and such hours to be whiled.
Hands to fall into.
Lips to sip on.
And to my surprise it still.
Is.
The crazy to my cray.
My match, met.
Not a partner but a soul shaker.
Far away.
Ever always.
But when the leaves change color and the year particularly grey, the stars form a rope we both cling to and climb, to some universe we exist apart from reality.
Where he is he and I am she
And we two form an altogether perfect chaos.
Feeling only the other as our breath stirs rhythmic to the melodies pouring from my bedroom walls.
And I fall.
I fucking fall, my hair hugging the ground and the words softly resonate
You're the only woman I ever lay on the floor with.
So I forget to put on sheets and my mind softly fumbles over each image, each smirk, each grasp.
And I lay.
On the ground.
Calm.
Serene.
Satisfied.
That could only ever stem from such loving raw acceptance.
That I've only ever known from him.
I've never felt like such a goddess for simply being my fucked up self.
More of this, Life.
Dear, sweet surprising Life.
Consume my soul with more of this.
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