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Your body begs for sleep, but your mind won't stop cycling through places you've been, loves you've lost, possibilities you fear.
I will be your best, most, first, last, favorite, something something.
Observing birds in the park and realizing how apt "tweeting" is. "I'm here!" "Anyone out there?" "Got food!" "Shall we mate?"
I wish dudes would stop describing me as crazy.
I mean, really.
I'm just quirky.
*slips into night*
I tried to count my freckles but got stumped when one was inside another or edges blurred together. It must be hard for gods to track souls.
Minnesotans are all having a Twitter slumber party because the storm is scary.
Can we eat junk food and talk about our crushes now?
My super power is ALL MY LIFE DECISIONS ARE WRONG.
I *just* realized I'm an adult and can have mac 'n cheese whenever the fuck I want. It's like I'm seeing colors I've never seen before.
The arbitrary and capricious distribution of privilege.
Someone woke up consumed by the curvature of a logo you'll ignore, the sole of a shoe you'll scuff, the location of a staircase you'll trod.
Though you long for company, you can never bear the pitying expression of one who wishes to rescue you from nights such as these.
Ever noticed how quickly things approach? What seemed far away is suddenly, quite suddenly, here. Time. Distance. Such wonderful tricks.
Let's drive around looking for abandoned barns and motels. Let's take pictures and walk where we shouldn't. Let's make up ghost stories.
I think we knew each other in the ether,
Before our lights were assigned to bodies.
We floated together
You and I.
Tweeting is writing is the immortalization of a moment that will echo, echo, echo long after its unremarkable passing.
I was worried about not owning a rolling pin to roll out this pie crust. Then I remembered I'm a drunk. Wine bottle to the rescue! As usual.
Gosh, if I didn't have rich, old white dudes in my life, I just don't know who would tell me institutional sexism isn't real.
The uncaffeinated life is not worth living.
Long letters to no one. No one in mind at every souvenir stand. No one waiting with eager kisses at home. No one to miss. No one.
I will not go to the grave with the song still in me.