Who’s responsible? Why, hello there. I believe. Rockety risky business. Forward, it is. Corrosion devours. Make me a clones. Give us a tons of clones. Duplicate my soul. Triumph of a cause. Needs to. Did I met you? Have we ever met, Ollie?
Do I know you, I think to ask. When the hamburgers taste of a frivolous rush, that’s where I belong. Would, I, shower you of questions. You, mine, the longest of longs. I’m using my lungs to write you love songs. Fond of you. I am fond of you. I admire you. I would so ravage to adore you.
North american skies. Almost. Why, oh well. Dang, a flash of… what? I envision of the iconic and everlasting haze of us. The kind of haze that wasn’t, but whose ideal nature is so strong that, even if unreal, I feel it. I have feelings for our times.
So now I remind myself of the letters I wrote, but never sent. For I was addressing them to a mind-archived you. It wasn’t really you. Yet it fucking was.
So I remind myself of your unkowningness of english. To think, to imagine, to fantasize of me being a teacher of yours. Just if. My lack of teaching skills all displayed in ambivalent fashion to the you. The you, as only and─(!!!)─special.
Mine is a fight for the basic principles, for decency. And you, oh darling. You have changed my life, oh yea, oh yeah-ah. Let’s leave behind bad memories, vamos a jugar.
“Childish”, I assume to hear from you. I never understood you. Did you? Don’t think you even took a chance to. Well I was wrong all along about you. You see, the distance between who we were and what we’re now can make funny things to memory. I don’t care. You don’t care. It’s ok. I’m over you. I just have sudden seldom parodies of collapses. For I’ve been waiting for you.
It wasn’t you. Sad, it seems now. But not for long. If it was you, you would have waited for me.
Not you.
Me.
