i could play wordgames with myself all fucking day. analyzing, reanalyzing, overanalyzing, desconstructing, resconsctructing, overconstructing. i could eat pita and hummus all damn day and remember all the things we've said to each other in and out of the places, with or without our consent. the webs are so fucking sticky, and they get thicker when you're not looking, when you're not waiting.

do you remember when we walked right through one?

right now, i would like nothing more than to be in that big red bed with my cheek melting into his arm as he reads to me in his radio commercial voice about witches and pissing games.