little liar girl

I have something to tell you, imagine you being ninety three and me being a little bit younger than that. We are on a porch by the sea, sipping cool mint drinks and imagining ourselves younger. We add words to the conversation that make sense, like 'appropriate' and 'lust' even though we still don't believe those to be good enough excuses.

We both understand that half of the things this recipe called for we are missing. I'll look again, but I'm almost sure we are out of the basics.

Imagine looking back and thinking about it. I do this every time I see your picture. I feel those strange stomach feelings again. Cook me something spicy and warm, I would say, and you would already be getting out a large pan and slicing vegetables. The black dog that is sitting by the door is looking at you the same way I am now, except I am now.

I am a constant observer, a collector. The only alchemy left to try is something unspoken, words will fall short, they will fail. And if they do, I will be left eating your sliced vegetables and feeding the scraps to the dog by the door.

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