Saturday, September 1, 2012

Summer Loves

I love too hard.

I do.

His hair looked like it had been burned by the sun. Red hot.

When I want something, I want it. When I love something, I love it until it turns black and sour.

I am intensity.

Listening to a tape deck in an purple-carpeted car while the Plains--stretching into nothingness--whip past.

I am no quitter.

But I have to admit that things can't go on this way.

"I met somebody."

A pain so bright it steals the words from my throat.

No, things can't go on this way.

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