Today is Friday the 15th, but I remember the harvest moon on Friday the 13th like it was yesterday because the message that came to mind was this:
In the silver lining,
you’ll discover things you’ve never known before.
All seeing eye.
Little flower; will of steel.
It’s impossible for her to suffer because suffering had become so sweet to her.
Like the Mason-Dixon line, you marked where I had to stay after you said the words to make me your slave. It looks as though your plan all along was to force me into creating my own absolution from this sentence. Is this just another case of proverbial psychological projection? It’s causing me to have an existential crisis, but here I stay offering libations to Evel Knievel, hoping to one day Schwinn.
Apparently, I can’t get a ride because The Spy House is “The Most Haunted House in America” and going there would be almost practically illegal. You will plant a tree by Arbor Day in celebration of my 30th birthday on April 13th or face an orgasmic crisis.
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