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I prance into the fresh-faced morning sunshine feet shoving themselves
into a convicted-but-escaped crack of light that has slithered it's way
between melancholy drapes. I examine my olive toes with their carefully
clipped toenails and the steep forceful arch that carves itself into my
foot, marvel at the protruding ankle bone with glee. And I realize: I
love my feet. In fact, I AM HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH THEM!
It's not that you're not wonderful - eyes like the chocolate salt- water
taffy I ate when I was small. Oh no, it's not that I can't lose myself
in you and your dark hair and gentle grain-cut hands. It's just that right
now my feet-in-light look like God, glowing and shining, parading in 6:33
a.m. gold. I'm supposed to experience one-night-stand summer flings anyway
- I am still a NAIVE AND HEADSTRONG YOUTH! You know I'll always come back
to you. Just let me be in love with this tantalizing moment for a bit
more.
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