here is the question: how much can we say about love in the 6 minutes between now and our afternoon meeting? can we choose a color for it? would it be wrong to suggest pink? Would it be wrong to tell you that I never loved your feet? your nose, yes, your ears, yes. but never your feet. though I do love that they are the base of you, they hold the rest of you up, so they get an adoration pass all the same.
I love a good shitpile. Flowcharts and sinking houses, lunch with Phyllis--all covered in cat hair. I love decisions between nuts and M&M's, between buying a new car or just sending a letter. When a gallon of lemonade costs four dollars, you don't need to stop loving yourself. It's always a choice, the space you make, the noise in between. After all, it's only a trip to Wawa, which means the same thing when you say it in Spanish, and you can hate yourself on the way there for what you are not doing or just put your shoulders down and take it-- one lovely breath at a time.
2 comments:
here is the question: how much can we say about love in the 6 minutes between now and our afternoon meeting? can we choose a color for it? would it be wrong to suggest pink?
Would it be wrong to tell you that I never loved your feet? your nose, yes, your ears, yes. but never your feet. though I do love that they are the base of you, they hold the rest of you up, so they get an adoration pass all the same.
Shitpile
I love a good shitpile.
Flowcharts and sinking houses,
lunch with Phyllis--all covered
in cat hair. I love decisions between
nuts and M&M's, between buying
a new car or just sending a letter.
When a gallon of lemonade costs
four dollars, you don't need
to stop loving yourself. It's always a choice,
the space you make, the noise
in between. After all, it's only a trip
to Wawa, which means the same thing
when you say it in Spanish, and you can
hate yourself on the way there
for what you are not doing or just put
your shoulders down and take it--
one lovely breath at a time.
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