This picture brings thoughts of me and her. The hippo lost its mom in the tsunami. Now he hangs out with this turtle and follows it around. From what I've read they have developed their own form of communication. I heart the Hippo and the Turtle.
How I'm living. The chemists call it crossed signals. The poets call it magical.
This is an unofficial surrender. But you can't see my white flag through all of the cameras flashing in your direction. Or maybe it's because you are only looking at the kiss in the corner of her mouth. Even Wendy looks like a home wrecker from Tinks perspective.
Half moon pills. And the way that they talk about you isn't even close. That's why I'm keeping our best days in our memories and our best lines closed tight in books.
Quick overnights in Mexico City. Gingerbread disasters and wrecked DVD's. She sleeps in my hoodies while I burn into the sheets.
NextDayLife
