Looking up at the sky I feel afraid. I'm lying on my back on a wide wooden handrail, precariously balanced between wind and earth. All I can see is the wide blue expanse above me, smattered with a few islands and continents of white. What if I was wrong all this time? What if this great sea above is really below, and at any moment my body will realize its error and adjust its perception of gravity accordingly? I can feel myself falling, falling a thousand miles or more down into this great blue sea.
I dreamt her last night. She asked me if I loved her. I told her, "So much so that it hurts." Odd. I remember so few of my dreams, why did this one get through? Odd that such a thing would be so completely disconnected from reality. I employ a look but don't touch philosophy with her. She needs to be looked at, she needs to be the center of attention. I wonder if she realizes this, when she wears low slung jeans and shirts to class. She kneels and stretches and crawls on all fours, all the kinds of moves that stimultate a man's imagination, as her interesting bits pop out all over.
Perhaps she really does need someone to love her.
I dreamt her last night. She asked me if I loved her. I told her, "So much so that it hurts." Odd. I remember so few of my dreams, why did this one get through? Odd that such a thing would be so completely disconnected from reality. I employ a look but don't touch philosophy with her. She needs to be looked at, she needs to be the center of attention. I wonder if she realizes this, when she wears low slung jeans and shirts to class. She kneels and stretches and crawls on all fours, all the kinds of moves that stimultate a man's imagination, as her interesting bits pop out all over.
Perhaps she really does need someone to love her.
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