You know
how much I love Peter? Its not a worshippy love. Its not a rockstarishmy
love. Its an everyday love that
permeates my entire waking hours- like whenever I see a movie that looks nice I
want to call him up and ask him if he thinks I should watch it. I trust his
judgment, about toothpaste as well, you know? Although I half expect him to be
sixteen years old and thirty years old at the same time, coming in to the house
after playing football with Emma Frogg with two 'g's but no teeth, with his
top-hat full of cats. Stupid love of my
stupid life. (And a goddam poet if I
ever saw one)
Oh here
he comes with his raspy drug-addled voice screaming "Pipey McGraw" and I can't
find it in my heart to hate anything anymore.
(Filed under: Journal entries about people who I half made up.)
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