combo number four; happy family.
ending an otherwise good week with an emotional sunday evening.
technically, sunday is the beginning of the week. i always feel like sunday is the day to wrap things up, so to speak. time to sweep things under the rug. el fin.
because of this, sunday is clearly not my beginning.
saturday.
monday.
friday.
thursday.
tuesday.
wednesday. forty nine minutes of lincoln blvd traffic provided me with a slap in the face of [look! this is what you don't have!]
a sticky 'for sale' truck on a sticky rush hour drive. i couldn't make out faces in your back window, even though it was open [it was probably open because you two are the carefree type. i am sure all of your windows are open all of the time]. i couldn't make out faces but i did catch you stealing kisses at red lights. people actually do that. you actually do that. the hopeless in me would like to think you were on your way to the beach [the one you always go to]. maybe you were even skipping work. i would give you names like kitty and joshua robert.
i bet he gives you the cherry from his shirley temple. without asking. yeah, he's just that kind of guy. he brings home pink and yellow flowers every thursday from the farmers market. you lay out his clothes while he's in the shower under the guise of 'being nice' but you really know that it's just because he always ignores the 'black and navy blue' rule. you hate that. [no, you don't]. you even turn the radio station back to his favorite before you leave the car. and if that didn't suffice, you have your bases covered anyways because sunday through saturday each has a designated mix tape you've made for him. b-52s and billy joel. you even leave love notes in his breifcase like the considerate girls do for thier man in the movies. like michael keaton, or someone typical. after all, you are the type of couple that kisses at red lights.
the mid-week sight of your happiness makes me second guess my whole existance. damn, you're good.
...eventually i lost to the 91, but it was nice to meet you.
1996 mazda, in a color that looked like swimming.
$1,460 ...O.B.O.
technically, sunday is the beginning of the week. i always feel like sunday is the day to wrap things up, so to speak. time to sweep things under the rug. el fin.
because of this, sunday is clearly not my beginning.
saturday.
monday.
friday.
thursday.
tuesday.
wednesday. forty nine minutes of lincoln blvd traffic provided me with a slap in the face of [look! this is what you don't have!]
a sticky 'for sale' truck on a sticky rush hour drive. i couldn't make out faces in your back window, even though it was open [it was probably open because you two are the carefree type. i am sure all of your windows are open all of the time]. i couldn't make out faces but i did catch you stealing kisses at red lights. people actually do that. you actually do that. the hopeless in me would like to think you were on your way to the beach [the one you always go to]. maybe you were even skipping work. i would give you names like kitty and joshua robert.
i bet he gives you the cherry from his shirley temple. without asking. yeah, he's just that kind of guy. he brings home pink and yellow flowers every thursday from the farmers market. you lay out his clothes while he's in the shower under the guise of 'being nice' but you really know that it's just because he always ignores the 'black and navy blue' rule. you hate that. [no, you don't]. you even turn the radio station back to his favorite before you leave the car. and if that didn't suffice, you have your bases covered anyways because sunday through saturday each has a designated mix tape you've made for him. b-52s and billy joel. you even leave love notes in his breifcase like the considerate girls do for thier man in the movies. like michael keaton, or someone typical. after all, you are the type of couple that kisses at red lights.
the mid-week sight of your happiness makes me second guess my whole existance. damn, you're good.
...eventually i lost to the 91, but it was nice to meet you.
1996 mazda, in a color that looked like swimming.
$1,460 ...O.B.O.