Instead of writing I’d rather be in bed with a book and a man beside me.
They say only two people come out of Kentucky: preachers and storytellers. My daddy was a preacher and lord knows I can’t do that.
Too much of a rebel to follow someone’s footsteps. Too stubborn to take the clear path. Rather make my own way and have the cuts, scabs, and bruises to show for it. But hey, at least I can say I did it—in the end.
I thought, still do, if I go to bed exhausted that must mean the day was well spent. Ever vain and obsessed with (my own) youth I feared not getting enough sleep. Not just for the health (de) affects but because of the bags lack would form around my eyes.
Now I welcome it. They’re a badge (bag) of honor. Sexy even.
I’ve decided instead of looking for a romantic partner I admire, I will become a person of admiration and be romantic with myself.
You can smell fire. From a distance.
We were standing on a bridge. The sun was out and you held my hand, you were smiling as you told me you loved me. The sun was behind us and vines covered the mossy water. Everything was so bright and the water was so blue.
Then the dream ended, and I woke up.