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She lives in my head.
And she's all mine.
Maybe not for a triplet of years...
But she'll be all mine nonetheless.
And I'll tell you what,
I've never wanted time to blow by so
unnoticably strangely this much in my life.
Nuh uh.
I want to feel her
taste her
breathe her into me as much as I can
and still have a little bit in front of me
to squeal when she hears Pikachu
to hurt herself at every possible oppurtunity
to do her drawrings and
to listen to her ska.
So together we can remember the
spot in the conversation where she told me to just stop thinking on the
spot on the couch where we... well... and the
spot in her eye that I hold ownership of and the black
spot on her floor in the basement and the
spot in her life when she told a friend that she'd marry me one day.
And everything else no one knows we share.
I can't believe we did any of that. I can't believe we have any of that.
It's really just hitting me now, you know.
This is the first thing I've been able to write since that
spot on the couch where we... well... and the
spot in the parking lot, where I parked my van on such a great and
unnoticably strange angle.
You know, if neither of us were so idiotically open about frigging
*~everything~*
then there wouldn't be any us to comment on.
I'd be on your list,
you'd be on mine.
Maybe we'd chat about a thing or two every now and then.
But that's what happens
when you get your hair cut
and you see a friend
who you need
and who needs you.
Three goddam years.
We could both be dead by then.
Or just one of us, I think that'd be harder.
No, I know that'd be harder.
What am I supposed to do til then?
I mean geez...
I obviously don't want anyone else...
I turn up my nose at any other
spot who would give me the time of day.
I just
want
you.
I'd say we need some kind of
song...
But hell... I really don't think that's necessary.
Because I think of you no matter what song I hear.
No matter what I'm doing
No matter where I am
No matter who's in front of me
(so if I fail English Lit I know who to blame).
Who'd have thought. Sweet Lord, who'd have thought.
I shake my head
because it's fucking unreal.
And you know what?
When I stopped thinking...
When you told me to...
You were still right there.
In fucking clear as day, copyrighted, 1999 technicolour.
Two tone, three chord me...
and you.
You were still right there
when everything else in my mind was gone.
It's you.
You live in my head.
And you're all mine.
Is it getting colder?
I can't tell anymore. I'm just...
unable or
unwilling or
some other ‘un'
to pay attention to
crap like that.
How the hell can I
when I have the option of something else.
So I guess I should finish this,
before it's some kind of friggin epic
and even you wouldn't want to
read it all.
Okay then, fine. I'll end it.
But I'll write more.
You bet your brown
spot I'll write more.
And you know what?
I don't know if I'll ever stop.
I get the feeling
I'll be doing it in English Lit tomorrow.
And I get the feeling
I'll be doing it in the bathroom tomorrow.
And I get a strong feeling
that you, girlie...
that you, dirtmonster...
that you, my prozzak girl...
You're going to be /on/in/about/the sole focus of/ my mind, among other parts (oh, don't be rude...) for
quite
some
time.
Yup. There's one great big
spot
on me that's all you.
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