BRB Juliet

It just occurred to me, I need to be a little bit more objective. This airy-fairy panache way to go about my writing is starting to piss the shit out of me. Short stories. Short stories, yes I have them - scattering onto the floor, by the dozens - but they are all so Jimmy Hawthrone, that I just want a fresh topic. A fresh scalp to pick, even.

And where the hell have you gone?

Just because I'm a bookworming recluse it gives you, oh! But it gives you no statuary right to forget about me. Boy! I'm not chasing you down. Come back. Come back to me! At once! Oh, but! At once, you must. All of you. But especially, most importantly: you. I refuse to let you believe all those little lies you put in your head, for you to deviate at will. There should be no deviating; just come back.

You are so perfect in your exquisitely weird t-shirts, that you bunch in your hand before putting on. You are so adorable with those lips that don't belong to your face at all, but that do. You: that murmur you used to use on me, when you pressed me against your chest.

Where? North? South? Astray? The long way? Cut your hair? Found another despaired princess? I refer to you mostly, but also you, the wallflower, yes you, the one standing with that empty smirk, staring. The tall one. The short one. You know. What's going on? What steered your air? Let me tell you, it was all in your goddamn imagination. I only had eyes for you. And that screening of love... the small screen, within here: that screen was for you.

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