i’d like to be in the alps with you, in the snow. tucked into that corner table in metrobar where we dull our vibrant minds and crawl underneath the table to another round of grosse bieres and caramel vodkas (courtesy of marenko who cannot possibly be able to actually sell that syrupy mess).
i’d lean into you because everyone else was just too close last time around. i’d whisper all the brilliant ideas i’ll never write into your ear. and then the next morning, i’d skip class and drink coffee after coffee and write them because you asked.
