Friday, March 14, 2008

I'm going to ride this wave until it runs out, either into a warm, wet cove made of skin, eyes, and brain, or to an early grave. Either way, you're going to hold my hand right? You're going to use that cosmic arm of yours and stretch it across the heavens towards mine, and we're going to clench hands (and they will never get sweaty, hot, or uncomfortable), and hold onto each other, even as we act in our normal lives as if the other doesn't exist.

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