.waiting.

Waiting for text message response, feed me a beer, but I should just go home and celebrate national straight edge day with a cup of milk.

And we met up and had a beer and he told me about how evening sucks and I think I heard something that he wouldn’t repeat but people tend to hear what they want to hear.

In my dream he took me somewhere, he wants to take me there. While I was dreaming, though, he was with a different girl that loved his best friend, so how ironic can things really get? How long can we displace our feelings in other characters, similar yet shadowy forms of what we truly desire? I am projecting by using the pronoun “we” when I really mean “I” but one of the things that sticks is how I don’t know if that is a lie, or a lie I tell myself.

I’m going home, because that’s where I am keeping my heart safe. It’s where the heart is, whether I like it or not. It’s safe.

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