Lost track of the years. Lost track of the fights. Lost track of the make-ups. The break-ups. Lost track of the gay. Lost track of the haircuts. Lost track of the movies. Lost track of the flattery. Lost track of every little detail about and between us. For the feeding and the force-feeding. For the pep talks and the shit talking. For the Sundays and the fun days. For the grumpy gills and the grumpier gills. For my foulmouth and your gasping. Soft spots and gay spots and favorite spots and sun spots and parking spots. Tickets on my windshield; the letter kind of tickets to tell me everything is going to be ok, and the parking kind of tickets from not moving my car from a No Parking zone because your comforter was mine in another lifetime. Ye, lifetime and shit. We feel like an entire lifetime and through all the now seemingly ridiculous moments when we were supposed to master the arts of letting go, we are here and we are queer and I love you, still.
This is the longest I have ever felt so strongly for anyone. And I'm ok with being gay about that.
Happy 7 or maybe 8 years to the first person to ever set me on fire.
FROGGY BLOW MY FACE
