Love

— December 11, 2012 —


{In which our narrator, drunkenly, asks to be done.}

Unblush a thousand ridiculous blushes. 
Unlisten to every song on the car stereo.
Unforgive our youth (covers held high to chins). 
Please, please, never have held me in a thing above disdain.


Forget the sound of my voice. And stop your ears (your wonderful little ears) lest I see you across from my tiny kitchen table, glowing with a secret I will never fall into, and find myself making the mistake of saying a second time, “You know, we could decide to love each other,” then like you become completely undone. 


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