A crack in the ceiling and you had the TV on and you said something but I was leaning on the wall and you wouldn’t look at me and I said, “look at you,” and you whispered, “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

And I said, I said, “can I come to bed?” And you said, “Why come on your bed?”

And I said, “that’s pretty funny,” and you said, “I want to feel pretty. Can you do that for me? Can you make me feel pretty?”

And I said, “right now I don’t know what to feel,” and you said, “that’s okay, I don’t know what I feel for you either.”

Suddenly, “an old woman told me, what a pretty little thing you are,” you said to me, “what a pretty little thing you are and I wanted to die right there and turn all green. What a crock of shit,” you said to me, “what a crock of shit to throw on someone, y’know? Who wants to be a pretty little thing? Who wants to be bright curls and pink bows and wet puppies?”

You said to me, “I want to be a big beautiful EVERYthing,” and you threw your arms around the bed.

From the foot of the bed standing, “what a pretty little thing you are,” I said.