Because I won’t tell you about lovely Christine from work who is afraid she looks 35 at 26’s melon-colored denim or how we met at a coffee shop that becomes a church on days you bike in the rain to it or on days everyone else did but you. Because I sent this bad haiku

the other girl at work
won’t chit chat thinks i’m crazy
it is all your fault
in a text message just yesterday when it hurt with my busted Pulp Fiction cell phone case that won’t protect me from feeling guilty for being so goddamn connected to people who will accept my mammoth vessel of a soul only to pour themselves in. Because I digress because you are pure digression and I know that because you are my mother. Because finally beginning to slip my love into your retired intravenous bag feels like suddenly recalling the frustration of learning how to walk. Because I almost took your call but a sweet portion of god came up with Christine at the coffee shop today and I took a sip of that instead.
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