I just can’t wait for you to never talk to me again in this life, so I can tell you what I think of you now for the rest of mine. You’ve got a lot of princess points in hell. You should check the catalog and see what you can trade them in for, what for you can trade them in and get.  I bet something real nice like a dollhouse the size of a real house and you can live there. Seriously, if I could have you any way I want for just one night, I would not even fall for the “Helen of Troy” trick all the boys know by now, but instead ask for the divine satisfaction of your explaining everything to me. Your entire life. No more mythology. Diagrams. I will know every ounce of every thought at the end of that night. Open up that unearthly termite mound. Is it true it was created only for temperature regulation and that inside it is never off by more than one or two degrees? I will forgo the sublime pleasure of your one and only earthly body, of that holy supper, for that divine ownership of actual facts. This is something your beauty always denied me. Your beauty which is the best beauty, because it is merely grammar. It is the homelessness of the world. And nothing more.


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