Wednesday, July 6, 2011

and every summer is a hot token to the cold, cold take of lust. and every autumn singes with the business of sadness.

::this is what today sounds like::

he said i was heady. and i took that as an insult. but he traced my wrist with his fingertips. kissed me. and held me. all night. so maybe he meant intoxicating. instead of overwhelming and reckless.

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