23.OCT.2012
11:54P

there is a child. four years old. a red balloon and a painted face, the two of us dancing around hay bales. and there is his father, and i am not sure if i like him or if i am just reveling in the attention.

then you reappear, though you have never disappeared, not even for a second.

"i'm drunk. watching tv. sorry if this is weird."

you let me tell you all the things i've been keeping in for three months. you don't try to stop me. you are more honest than ever. i cry for two straight hours while we dissect the entire summer. i tell you i loved you. there is no harm in saying it, now.

"i shouldn't have given up like that."