so you can wriet you drunker prose about me and i'll write my drunken stream-of-consciousness about you and we'll call if even:
i am a 'fucking cunt' and you are a 'fucking bastard' and we do fucking love each other but what the fuck does that mean anyway:
to obey and honor? oh wait no, that's marriage, which ahs nothing to do with anything.
is love letting you drink gin when i wanted you to want to prove to yourself that you didn't need to, letter you drink because i wanted to read why you hate to love me? no, that's infatuation.
is our love leaving the fan on all night because you know i can't sleep without it even though you can't sleep with it? no, that's understanding.
is this love fighting and screaming in front of our friends but not being embarrassed because the fights we have fought are almost mandatory? no, that's stress.
perhaps, just maybe, this is the best kind of love, the kind that will drive us insane because it is indescribable, inexplicable, redundant; indeed, it just is.
but fuck it, because lying in bed next to you when we got home from the hospital, i realized that even when i was saying it just to make you feel better, you are really and truly my first love and i love you baby and at this point, that is all that matters.
..............
in other news, i have just purchased tickets for aaron and i to go to redding jan 16 through the 20. and aaron fainted at work today because he is a sick boy. sigh. we are broke.