Sometimes I say no I love this boy club. And I want to leave until they want it again. Other times, circumstantial issues, I go away for months. I dance, write, read, I drink, I fall, I almost case, fight, reconcile me, I return to being single, I know people, I remember, forgetfulness, crying, I'm glad I visit, I cook. And I see this guy, until I see it. That day he tells me stories about writers, it makes me laugh or show me a boot that became pot. Then, for some nonsense, back to love, a little more than last time.
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