the average heart beats sixty something times a minute but your heart was never average. in the middle of a car wreck you turned to say, "living was mighty pretty, maybe you and i will do it again someday?" they'll scrap the steal and bury our bones and its all just proof that the work of the ugliness is to highlight the beautiful. our clothes will probably end up in thrift stores, scooped up by trendy kids, on a particularly hot day in may and when we used to touch it felt as though our skeletons and skin would love each other even if our minds did not. we moved into the cabin just for fun, at seventeen or something, and not for very long. the roads were dangerous and we missed our friends after a few weeks. but the sun warmed the floorboards and couch cushions so perfectly in the mornings, and the lake was a dark green which cooled our everythings. we heard our grandparents in the trees and burned sage to keep the indian ghosts dancing. at night we hid from sleep out on the dock, i swore the candles would keep the spiders away (often they did not, but you never seemed to notice) and your lips were still hot and pink from the sun of the day. although that was long ago before we turned in our bones, but i think you would have agreed that she is a tapestry of new memories and old feelings and a little fucked up but god damn she's a pretty human being.
