I put on my old glasses; took off the too fine frames that had seemed so important, so briefly stumbled out into a week of heavy nights that looked warmer than they were and breathed easy I didn't seem to mind, if only for seven days out of thousands, that everything was exactly the way it was and goddamn if that didn't make it nice to be outside on a summer night.
That's all really.
Somehow those old square frames made my brain syrupy and sweet, not minding all too much about anything, just wanting someone true to hold and be held by.
Now I'm still wearing these old glasses and I don't feel too sure about what I want. Or, I know what I want, sort of but it seems so much like something I didn't really want at all when I found it a little bit on into one charged blue black night.
I guess what I'm trying to say's that I wanted something until I had it, and I guess that's not so strange, but I hope it doesn't work out that way again.

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