as the broke air conditioner rots on the window ledge.
Not related,
automatically open windows when it rises above 32 degres farenheight.
oh sandbox romances that shouldn't (technically) be called "sandbox" because the sand has been replaced with confetti, shreded newspaper and movie ticket stubs.

I love...

this is the part where I start to cry.
smell of despair.
there are those that don't realize it.

bon voyage...

DAH...this is bizarre. Tastes like fear and smells like nervous light.

I wish they knew how I care and how I love and how this, and everything else, is so important to my soul and being.