It's not my box.
-Nighttime, in Jamaica-
He takes a sip of rum as the hot breeze dries my salty wet hair.
I play with the sand between my toes wiggling them back and forth.
Him: Can I tell you something?
Me: What's up?
He takes a sip of rum as the hot breeze dries my salty wet hair.
I play with the sand between my toes wiggling them back and forth.
Him: Can I tell you something?
Me: What's up?
-he looks at me-
Him: Your sister told me about your breakup. Sounded really bad.
-I look down at my French manicure-
Him: You keep trying to fit into this box.... dating these guys.... Forget about what people think! You are a free spirit and an artist. Live the life you want to live! Do it your way.
So, I did.
