Someday, I'm going to make love to some beautiful boy who loves me f'real f'real and we'll listen to my records, and he'll appreciate what a quirky alive person I am. He'll love music more than me, because I don't really love it like I thought I did. He will call me, not text me, and I will be friends with his parents and send them Christmas cards, unless he happens to be Jewish. We will wrestle in the grass, and he will be barely able to hold back his ferocious lust. We will share dinner with our families, and he will laugh at my dad's jokes when my dad tries really hard to be funny and personable, but is really only mildly amusing and entirely endearing. Jack will think he is a good guy, and that my eyes are squinty all the time when I'm with him. We will talk politics and question existence, like "Can snails move backwards?" "I wonder how many four-leaf clovers have been run over with lawn mowers?" and at the peak of science and all knowledge, we will go to a museum to find out how magnets work. Because if I don't make it a statement for the future, I will always settle for less and the least.
I can't stop listening to side two of "Our Endless Numbered Days." Damn. He reminds me of James Taylor in his talking with melody.
[edit: I looked it up, snails can't move backwards. I never considered it before today until looking at the pond in my grandmom's backyard.]
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