When I was little I drew pictures of you instead of paying attention in class. I liked your shape.

One day my brother stole my notebook and asked why I never drew girls. So I started, but it wasn't the same.

At night I dreamt of you, Wigleaf, your veins, like charcoal rubbed smooth into paper. I couldn't help it.


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Read DPC's "Driving Home, I Imagined the Man I'd Just Met, Alone in His Apartment...."

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