The Closest That You Lames Ever Came to the Planes was a Palm Pilot

Life
What the fuck is this shit even about?
Bad bitches and good weed?
Bad bitches and cold drinks?
Bad bitches and good dank?
Champagne and easy widers?
Movies?
Casting...
I'd like to sum up my life as floating on a cloud of superficial bullshit
landing on a planet of superficial bullshit AND success
and then falling into flyness... and superficial bullshit, with satisfaction
and self content.

But we all know this shit is not true.
well... part of it is.
shit... most of it... I'm working on the success part though.

i m y

The way your eyelashes fluttered and then parted slightly to reveal your eyes rolling to the back of your head was just so fucking sexy... I miss it. I miss the curves you possessed and the long, thick, brown hair that teased your shoulders and in turn teased me- for it got to touch your smoothe caramel skin more than I ever could have. Your thick thighs, your gorgeous hands, that smile that could brighten any day, together with your loud ass laugh and that scent that swallowed up every piece of clothing you owned. I want to drown in it. I want to live in it.
I wish I had the ability to go back in time to the night where I held you up against the fence outside the movie theatre and let my tongue wind up with yours. I let my hands roam everywhere, and I didn't care who saw it. They started with your hair and ended up cupping each cheek. Grown ass men walked by and stared in jealousy. You were mine, and not their's. With every kiss I took a deep breath to make sure I was completely absorbing you... and here you thought I was just being a hornball but it was so much more. I was creating a connection. Solidifying it. Making sure that the trust I was placing in you was secure. Furthering our relationship, with that one kiss.

I miss you.