One room away is a woman who wants me to **** her. She is beautiful, intelligent, and drunk.
I am ugly, intelligent, and sober.
Even though my highest and best tells me to walk away with a smile, my core screams for a ruining.
One room away is a drunk, *****, dripping work of art who is also very, very lucky.
Charles tells me to listen to my **** and Pablo whispers a reminder to remember the smell of early morning wheat and your eyelashes while Walt and I gaze at the stars and think of death.
I smile to myself, soaking in the after glow of vanilla chai, good ****, and dead poets.
One room away is a woman who's fate was in my sadistic hands. Two rooms away is a twelve year old who is dreaming of flag football and Vans and getting to level 37 of Skyrim and one day, after he wakes up and after we have our toaster strudel, and somewhere in between me stopping for coffee and dropping him off, I'll remind him that good ***** is everywhere so take your time and do it right and when you just don't want to look at their face, make some tea, catch a buzz, and read some poetry.