and the wanting comes in waves
Morgan was a slice of peach pie served with an extra scoop of cinnamon ice cream. New York has been weeping all over me since we parted, today being the first respite of blue in awhile. Rosendale is cool gusts of hot wet floral air. The rail trail is even more chocolate-pudding-licious now, and I was to be caked with it today but for a broken bike chain. But of course I made cardboard fairyhouses instead because, duh, that's what I do. Seriously though, Morgan, my post-hostess etiquette is atrocious. I mean to call you and tell you that Louie is in love with you but I just did so I'll have to think of knew things to tell you but you are probably tired of my dork-voice for the time being anyway.
Also: shoot, guys... I guess I'm going to college?