"
It's eight AM and she hasn't changed her clothes
It's eight AM and she hasn't changed her wife
There's something wrong with this picture
Someone hung it a little too crooked.

The ptarmagans are poking their heads out of the sand."

Each emotion is neatly wrapped up in a white envelope. It's becoming the trademark of this non-relationship. A white envelope with nothing on it. A white envelope with 'to' and 'from' and two cat stickers on it. A bag of chocolates contained in a metaphorical white envelope. It's all going around and around in circles. And clearly, I am a masochist or far too hopeful. One of the two. Possibly both. But I mean, fucking really.

"consider the hairpin turn"

...you know?