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i saw you in a dream, you came to me; you were the sweetest apparition.

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i went to see the japanese house play at the fillmore last night. the stage glowed, the lights glittered, and the music ebbed and flowed in and out of our swaying bodies. i said, “this is like heaven, isn’t it?”

even at 2am, their lyrics continued replaying over and over in my head as i dragged graphite along newsprint, each mark engraving the thin paper in the same way the words were carving a permanent home in my mind. i woke up wishing i saw you in my dreams. that would have been nice.

it isn’t the same but it is enough.

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your hand in mine

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“moral of the story: boys are assholes.”

brandon found this scrawled on the last page of “the giving tree” and i laughed so hard i nearly cried. we spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the neighborhood and pointing at trees that we would climb one day.

what a mess i’ve made.