Time of the Season

I’m sliding off my yolk. Jutting limbs far out into the misty night air, unrestrained in the ethereal twilight glow. Dancing in the dark on a barren sidewalk, only the quiet R&B  to infiltrate the mystic silence. How romantic it all is. Perfect for falling in love. It really is the time of the season.

I want excitement. I crave excitement. I want to sneak out and sit in the park mamma told me not to go to and look up at the stars muddled away by layers of atmospheric pollution. I want to steal away quiet in the temperate night air. Cool enough to keep you alert. Warm enough to shed your skin. It’s like no one is alive but me and you. The night was made for us. How could I resist? How could I ever hope to resist?

I’m scared of the world. I can’t be with just anybody at a time like this. I want someone perfect. Who adore and indulge me. Who will excite me. Of course I could do it with my love as well, but I have another fantasy. I want to be a teenager. Everything the movies ever promised. 

I don’t want to do it halfway. If I get high enough, it can substitute, but I think what I really want is some action. And I’m sure I’m looking in all the wrong places.

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