emergency bike surgery and frantic amputations, circuitous narratives of these longlost endearments.
a concentrated, poetic frown while he dines alone with an open book of verses.
vegetarian, of course. handkerchief up for grabs.
half-burned candles, and outdated songs, and i'm opening my door with shorter hair each time, with rolling eyes.
weary introductions, sheepish grins, mountains of blankets softer than anything but
(fluffy white clouds)
an entire jar of jam in one sitting, with a spoon.
screw peanut butter.
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