Current mood:you can’t make me
You can't cut his hair. It's turned into his, you know, "thing". All the ladies say to him, "you have the prettiest hair".
I think you should leave it alone until I move on and just let it grow...and then we'll cut it together as kind of an umbilical cord type ceremonial ceremony?
He's not mine at all. But I can't help but anticipate the missing.
The smells. The sounds. The cuddles. The commands. The funniest funnies. Aw man, the funnies. The fart machine?
Thank you for loaning his love to me. Thank you for allowing me the time.
x
m
ps. I'll miss you too.
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