you: you know something, you're pretty.
really pretty.
me: i'm a girl.
girls are pretty.
you: no, you're more than just a girl.
i blinked.
and stopped the thoughts that you were fond of me.
-thanks, you're pretty too.
here's the thing.
you can call me, the-girl-with-ten-fingers-and-likes-nothing.
and i'll tell you we should be in love.
and that's how our life will start.
we will buy a dog, and name him sandwich. you will have to promise me you won't die.
and i will promise to die.
i'll write sad songs with no meaning, and hum them to you while you are in the garage fixing our bikes.
we'll hold hands and dig big holes.
i'll put away the dishes and wash my hair. we can count the seconds pass while searching for our love.
but we will find our love, because we just stored it away for the winter.
my hands wont get dry, because you'll hold them to your face while you tell of your dead brother.
we'll have children and name the west and forest. and if they are girls, we'll teach them how to be lady like. and we will be hypocrites.
our dog, sandwich will die. and you'll bury him deep deep into the soil, and in the summer i will plant flowers over his body.
our children will leave us, and we will fill books of regrets and continue our steady belief in hypocrisy.
slowly, my hands will be dry; and full of old skin. slowly i will die. and you will bury me deep deep into the soil. and you'll plant flowers over my body.
you'll bind the books of my regrets, with a strong strong leather and promise to never die.
you continue hum my old songs while you're in the garage fixing our old bikes.
you'll put away the dishes, and our love for the winter; and build pretty fires.
you'll keep your promise, just like you said. because you knew, dying isn't a matter of breathing.
it's a matter of living. and living was our life style.
