every single day there are things that make me think
"huh, I should write about this"
and I make a mental note of it
and then I forget all about it
until the next day
when I see patches of green moss creeping along the cold cement sidewalks
or the warmth of his hand against the small of my back as we boogie down on the dance floor at the Mineshaft to Come On Eileen
playing spin the bottle in a haunted hotel room at four in the morning and hoping to land on the same girl over and over and over again cause her lips taste like cigarettes and Burt's Bees peppermint chapstick and I just ******* crave that **** ya know?
I crave the things that make me want to write, that make me feel inspired, that make me feel human
and at the end of the day it doesn't matter if I write any of it down because I still felt it and I still love it and it still happened and it still counts
life still ******* counts
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