*muttering* he is going to wrinkle up into a prune-- an old prune that stayed too long in the tub-- and, and he's going to turn very berry unpolluted sky ocean blue from lack of oxygen in the onslaught of my relentless kisses --if only for making me find nina simone singing suzanne (there are only two leonard cohen covers i like now) ... he's so-- so something, and it annoys me and i want more of it anyway, i find him deeply, deeply threatening. why does it have to feel like dying in a million ways all at once? i feel like i'm being ripped apart, and squished together and like i'm plummeting from a balcony and can't seem to find the ground, but it doesn't matter because the impending SPLAT happens in my ribcage whenever he says something just...impossibly wonderful and ugh and i know that they're just coincidences that i'm especially attune to because my brain is mushy despite all its suspicion and that's what happens and it doesn't matter that he likes me when i've made myself impossible to like and that i like him when i thought i'd made my standards ridiculously high and-- poo i think i might you know fall (shut up) |