I want to crack an egg on your ass, fix your chipped nail polish, read those poems you never finished, even the ones that aren’t about me. See, I’m not selfish. I can be vulnerable, just don’t get up and go.
Like, we could have three dogs in case one dies in the future and we won’t be lonely or I won’t because you might leave me. I don’t blame you for downgrading, for simplicity.
At this age, I really should have it together. When I walk the neighborhood, I think the flowers smell like a metaphor for something.
