If I Had Only Felt How It Feels To Be Yours

I will go back and detergent my hands until the alien-ness of them is a summer arm scraping, is MSN message typing, trying to keep up with a words per minute sort of a man who develops exactly how you expect, or better, which is almost always not the way development works and everyone who got it wrong you sacrifice like shrunk clothes to charity shop skips which’ll never sell because the label doesn’t match up the seams.

Re-reading every message and text, some people don’t change and others are potential-less when they started off fat like fruit. And how could you know the way this’d end, if there aren’t ends and ends aren’t games in which you wait and stop waiting like queues you can’t quite bother with. And things I wish you’d think were eradicated, vindicated, but good Catholics know that the release is temporary and word only and someone else’s prerogative entirely. And Prerogative, that’s a Britney Spears reference, and you get that, and I’m sorry I could fuck someone over so intent on saving, preserving me, or just witnessing what I turned into.

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Being Smart

Our retracebale steps are MSN transcripts, manuscripts of lines wrought with get you somewhere which didn’t work. It took a year to etch, of incorrigible, courage of convictions, and then the night doubt of did I do, try, because I could and knew the answer before it because it was almost alterable and the teetering of it, the absolute certain/uncertainty of it was the replay warming like a microwave never hitting the goal first, because digits aren’t exactly predictable, even with cardboard directions. Your guidelines were elusive until vow time.

Reading back I ask for conversations with inbetween girls and my historical expandable foam is a chapter not an openable script on a catalogued storage disc, forgettable memories, a dream which stirs mornings, not entire days.

I can’t promise exclusivity, that Terry and Merry and John aren’t almosts on a site list I’ll comment and the back/forth is unmatchable film knowledge (yours), references not met (16 years long) and stand up to, stand up to me. Sectility you get, and every carve the others get on the internet, you can collect in a suitcase, bowl, and be segment keeper which you kind of are already, and the smartless of us, the absent and can’t quites, need only you.