One-Twelfth Dozen Is too many Words

I've been dreaming about Dave again, even in fantastic ones. Previously, these phantasms were confined to cold encounters in hallowed halls of dream school, roughly equivalent to reality. While real life proximity is acceptable, dreams are unsettling to me. I am not indifferent towards him, but I cannot clarify my thoughts. Nostalgia is the closest defined expression. I feel like I'm not allowed to think about him.

My mama thinks I'm grown, but I'm really just little.
Someday, I will remember.
Someday, I will remember.
Someday, I will remember.

If, as the naughtiest pit girl, I were to get coal in my stocking, I would set it on fire. Today marks a little under halfway through December, and I've begun reflecting on the year. This was the fastest year on record, and certainly not deserving of the nice list. In one year, I have acted the Sodomite, disregarding my notions of sexual exclusivity and emotional commitment. I have sneered at the high and mighty from my ivory tower, locked up all alone with the occasional visitor.

If, as a nicer pit girl, I were to receive a book of poetry, I would already be familiar with the verse. Today marks a little under halfway through December, and I've begun reflecting on the year. This was the fastest year on record, and certainly deserving of the nice list. In one year, I have opened a parallel world of enjoyment, frowned upon by my mother and the status quo. I have loved the bodies of those longing for touch and loved the lives of those who do not need to love me in return for my own selfish satisfaction. I have rediscovered a community that I was formerly barred from, a community of stories and the "new."