I miss my good friend, Jesus. We'd walk in the woods and talk about doves and lambs and kosher foods. I would go on and on about about the pickles, but he said they just don't count. "you can't bleed a pickle," he'd surmise. It was always a surmon with that glorious man. I'd always invite him to the after parties, but he must have known i'd be inappropriate. It's not very fair when you date a god. He'd always know that i'd try and push him to the dance floor, he must have known i'd grab for the holy spaces, he must have known it all before.
That's cool, though. It kept me all in check. It made me forget all about the waivers i signed before my holy communion. They made me sign the forms all in unison. All on carbon copied memorandum. This hereby names my every intention to direct my eyes toward love and free will. Even at eight, i was all about free will.
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