wanted.

I want something new to say. I never write when I’m happy. I should thank you for that. Or perhaps blame you instead. I’ve got visions of sugar plums that dance in my head and whiskey breath. days are getting longer, almost long enough to love in them. I can’t see clearly where we’re going but I get to be okay with that because the view is nice and we keep the windows down most weekends. people have all sorts of nice things to say about it. I work hard at letting simple win but I think that negates the true nature of simple. you keep on asking me where I go. I’ll spend the summer poolside and sipping on hibiscus pretending like you’re inside. sometimes I don’t walk home until five in the afternoon. and sometimes I don’t walk home at all. I just circle the neighborhood and look at the houses that keep the lights on, and think about how soon we won’t be here anymore.

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