If optimism were a drug, I'd be a user, an abuser, and a pusher.

Oct 27, 2006 00:03

I will be up for hours.
I  will probably watch the sunrise tomorrow.
That is almost half exciting.

If only someone were here to smash their nose against mine, accidentally, as we kiss.
               Hell and high water never seem half as bad with someone else's warm skin around you.
                         And God, how his eyes would burn.
                            He'd call me his 'rebel princess'. Or something adorably unique like that.

I will be up till sunrise, no doubt, writing thousands of pointless words because that is where I live.
                                 On earth, in the states, in a cramped hallway at a desk  where these Geography papers will be pure gold

until I'm 29, and married, with a short, stylish perm and piles of lesson plans in my study.
Then I'll sit on a grassy lawn, and bouncing a perfect  baby boy on my knee I'll recall this moment.   (I always knew.)

He'll lean down to me and whisper
                                 "My rebel princess,
                                                  we always knew.
                                                  We always knew what mattered."
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