"You're a bum, you're a punk."
"You're an old slut on junk; lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed."
"You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot. Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it's our last."
Ah, you picture perfect pixie, pretty in pink princess. You cookies and milk spitting wonderment. You Star Trek nerd. Such a lovely evening, and I thank you thus. Not often does a smile stick to my cheeks for an entire night, but you have proved an exception to the rule. You will want to change the subject now (I know how it goes) and so I will. Mud and messy hair. The kids will cry out and I will laugh from the top of the fort. Awaiting your return, for you are special to me.
And here I am, sleep deprived yet decidedly more awake than I should be. Brandished the sword of positivity today. Sharpened the blade a little more. Still not ready to ride into battle with it as my sole source of weaponry, but a start is a start. Rain swept over us and I opened the window and let the drips splash off the sill and onto my face. Winter is creeping up ever so discreetly. Times, as they say, are a-changing. I can see a future where even a few months ago I saw nothing but my own demise. I shall try to make it last. No promises. Just hope like hell.
My mind is not on my writing at the moment. It is across the seas. It is caught up in insignificant evening chit-chat. I am so happy to have my friend back. She is a marvel.
What is your favourite Irish folk song?
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