You are a touchdown, a home run, a sports metaphor I never understood.
You are the smell of Palm Olive dish soap in a Middle Eastern summer, you are grass outside the window that’s green despite the weather.
You’re that same kind of nostalgia.
You remind me of sunburn. Of broken hearts and midnight conversations and blackout thunderstorms that rattled July as if it was a cage we were all trying to escape from.
I always thought I would escape with you.
Our exit strategy was planned in a worn-out, Target clearance journal.
For awhile there we had it all figured out.
But the dreams we have at 17 don’t always come true.
And it’s okay that you fell in love with her. It’s okay that we both moved on.
Every man I fall in love with from now on has to measure up to you. So far, they’ve all fallen short and I am learning to be okay with that.
I remember the way that Abe Lincoln impersonator made you grin so wide, and even now, I would drop everything to dress up as your favorite president if I knew it would make you smile.
You are my favorite home run, and I will always be your biggest fan."
It’s 2089. all cops have been replaced by genetically modified dogs that let children pet them, help old ladies cross the street, chase down criminals, never eat donuts, bark at cat-callers, analyze dna, easily track down murders, pee on white collar criminals, and tear the faces off of rapists. utopia has been reached.
How was this accomplished you ask?
Well its simple
Dogs are colorblind
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