thrown_away icewater You threw a soggy pillow at me, in the memory you threw away, when we were camping in hooveprints and sleeping under the cheap fabric of a ripped tent-- we liked being able to see the stars and pretending the monsters couldn't get us inside this makeshift womb. We were holding in our laughter so we wouldn't wake the other one up, and it burst into our noses, stung like carbonation. We cuddled because you thought I'd forget, but its ok I knew we were just friends. Your hands are clammy again, I pretend not to notice that we don't talk, but I stopped pretending those monsters couldn't get me. Its ok, I know we're not friends anymore. I just don't know why I'm so disposable to you. 021204 what's it to you? who go blather from