begin long before you hear them and gain speed and come out of the same place as other words. They should have their own place to come from, the elbow perhaps, since elbows look funny and never weep. Why are you proud of me? I said goodbye to you forty times. I see your point. That is an achievement unto itself. My mom wants me to write a goodbye poem. It should fit inside a card and use the phrase, “You are one powerful lady.” There is nothing powerful about me though you might think so from the way I spit. I don’t want to say goodbye to you anymore. I heard the first wave was an accident. It happened in the Cave of the Hands in Santa Cruz. The four of them were drinking and someone killed a wild boar and someone else said, “Hey look, I put my hand in it. Saying goodbye is like that. You put your hand in it and then you take your hand back.
Evangelize Your Love
At home, a sixteen-year-old son and window treatments and walls to paint and “How was your day?” On the web there are no days and no seasons and no oil changes for the Subaru. “No one important.” At the motel, flat pillows, a lamp tall as his son in the corner and a print of a sailboat. “In year three, the sex fizzled and we broke up. Then we got married.” Have you gotten yourself into something? “Tonight I am making your favorite dish.” News comes on, news goes off, taxes. “At some point, he stopped kissing me on the neck.” She needs to write her Goals Statement. “He promised.” More or less. “How can I live like this?” the three of them in unison.