0258 | THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING EVE |

It would be nice to fall in love many times each day, and I could. Just the perfect lips or smile or bumpbump. Tight. Every few steps, snap a neck at the future ex. But feel it, really mean it. Like when she wants you to look at something when the game is on and you just do it -- not to shut her up, but because when she smiles that shit will be like the winning touchdown home run goal basket. But when she pulls that shit again, fuckthat. That's bullshit. C'mon lady, what about my time? Don't you love me at all? I know you do. Let's hold hands tomorrow and make out. Your lips...well...what can I really say. They are luscious for reals. Put them on me tomorrow. I have steps to climb right now, going to take them slow okay. Bon Iver in my ear. I cannot hear you now, I can only dream about you, about wanting to touch you but I cannot, even in my very own dream. WTF with that, I know. I mean it is my dream, right? But I guess it's not. That belongs to you, too.