A flying fish told me today.
It isn't about how hard you work.
It isn't about you.
Looking out towards the ocean
Thinking about your bad sense of direction.
Thinking about how my goal was to make sure you knew you were appreciated.
You made me laugh, and I always looked forward to seeing you.
Even though we aren't going to continue, that the journey was enjoyable.
That I'll always remember your smell.
But your goal was to make me feel like I was bad. At life.
And to get in one last shag.
There are very few people in the world who have ever made me feel this awful.
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And I believed last years posts were as far to the edge of the edge of where writing met the pavement of the heart. I am not sure if I want to offer a virtual but really meant hug or nurse my own awakened wounds first.
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