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Tuesday, 18 July 2017

Hulo ...

Look at us, we're a mess.
We both like those Christmas lights because rolling around sheetless beds while they twinkle sends the butterflies already fluttering in our stomach go on a crazy ride. We are clumsy, repeat clothes after sniffing them and have no sense of dressing for an occasion. I sleep too much and you destroy your eyes on the laptop screen. Sometimes we cook like we mean it, but mostly we just put whatever we find in the pot and eat it like it tastes exotic. Yeah, we read, but rarely. We have new books that lie around the room, ignored, but who delves into pages when we hardly ever have time to finish learning each other's stories. I tell you about the fat kid I was and you tell me about how you swung on the home windows while refusing to eat. We laugh a lot, mostly without legit reasons. We flick through social media in search of boys for you and girls for me and get high on conversations that drift far from reality. And on stormy nights, we lie under the plastic cup lights drinking wine and talk about how we'll miss each other. You sometimes pull my hand over your waist while you sleep and probably don't realize it and when it's 3 am, and you're literally snoring and I'm awake, I kiss your forehead like it's the last time I will do it. You don't know it, but you twitch your nose and sometimes, just sometimes, you turn and kiss me back.
We're a mess of unfelt emotions that float so comfortably without the weight of tags that we often forget how limited these sunsets are.

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