pure. now. i woke up and my first thought turned to you. i must write, you are my fiction and without my fiction, i do not exist.
i like sunny days up in the mountains, walking on the snow, slipping on the ice underneath. feeling my body tense up and then reminding myself of the total futility of that reaction of tensing up. if there is one skill that i command, it is the one of slipping and falling. the primate imprinting is mine too, but somehow that is no consolation. this primate would rather be god, not human!
