I would like my waffles without whipped creme, but with a dash or two of pure maple syrup. I would like to have them at roughly ten am, in the sunny spot before the plate glass window in the small cafe by the lake. We'll eat together, you'll have coffee and I'll have tea.

Yes, I would like that.

You wouldn't believe me if I told you I could see the words you said, spilling off you tongue like the cheap red wine you drink. (Too much, too often, you know.) I see these words in colors I don't know, it feels like I'm insane when I stare but I can't help but be astonished because- oh because- these words, you speak them so softly. So beautifully. Maybe it's not the words I see, but the attraction I feel instead. To you, in your shabby suit with your messy hair and your unmatched socks that really should be thrown out. How many holes now?

Maybe I just see you and I. Maybe I just want to see you and I.

Most formally, and without regret, I must sincerely inform you of my current thoughts.


I would like you to fuck off.


Much thanks, some love and a dash of sugar.

Signed,

the Damsel.

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