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half-decent home-cooked sugar

29 Jun

So far, all of today has been spent at home writing to myself, celebrating the five hours of work that I avoided by working late on Monday. I listened to punk rock and ate almost nothing to prepare myself to super-enjoy the chain-restaurant food I’ll have for dinner with Daniel because he has a gift card. I know it sounds kind of sad, but Daniel and I and our complimentary bread together at a table in a crowded restaurant, smiling at each other and trying to think of something new to share with each other is the kind of sweet romantic life I imagine for myself at twenty-four, when I’m a little too old to be impressed by corny moonlit beach walks or a half-decent home-cooked creme brulee. I don’t even like creme brulee. And then we’ll sit next to each other in the theater with the armrest up and my legs wrapped behind his because it’s cold and he’s always so warm when I need heat. And maybe when the movie’s done, we’ll find someplace to eat something sweet and cool for dessert and I’ll curl up against him in the car when even my insides are cold and I’m worried I’ll never get warm again.

 

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