precisely the kind of thing R and everyone he hangs with dislikes, and i haven't thought of it since college really, but today oh. say whatever you like about my last ex, he had a sweet (not in the slang sense, but tender) imagination. also, this for no real good reason reminds me of those lines akhmatova wrote about falling in love with modigliani, how they were so poor they had to huddle under one umbrella in the rain on their dates, but they'd read poetry to each other and it was all good. there's a lot of looking down on fanciful grand illusions of self around here, and as i age of course, but hey, i ain't from these parts anyway.
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