Scraps

My last boyfriend was an artist. Of the cement variety. I begged him for like a solid year to make something, anything, in my honor. Wifey shit, I guess. He wouldn't even draw my name on a piece of paper. Too much magic, maybe? Or I was not his wifey, after all.

I found myself collecting scraps he left around my house while working on other projects. Single letters he'd cut out with an x-acto knife and discarded, or left laying on my living room floor. I'd uncrumple them and put them on my walls.

All this to say: I am resourceful, if not inspirational. Today seems to be calling on that quality like, tenfold.

I slept so good last night I didn't even bother to dream, but I woke up with all of these thoughts, instead.

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On another hand:

I love Sirius because they'll randomly play this shit on a Friday morning