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Showing results for tags 'and how fickle it is'.
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talking to someone from childhood— oh, a hundred, a thousand years ago— and remembering the sleepovers & the daydreams and the “these help me fall asleep” dreams. i’m asking if she remembers the time i dangled a caterpillar in front of her face, the time i destroyed her fairyhouses, the sleepover/pajama party (elementary school innocence & how badly i wanted to kiss her, didn’t want to admit it to myself but it was there), the time she asked how much i weighed, somewhere in all of this, and then we stopped being friends until she saw me at work, and recognized me through the tied-back hair, through the name change, through all of it. she laughs and says “i don’t remember any of that.” author's note: i want to publish this on tumblr even tho it's like 3 days old at this point but. shrugs. idk if i like it enough to post.