May 20, 2003
Tortilla Chipette
I am going to marry Nightcrawler and he and I are going to have tiny little blue babies that scream and wriggle and teleport. Mike won't mind. I saw how he was eying Mystique.
I have just one question: why must my hair look as nice as it does when there is no one about to run his hands through it, sighing? I called him earlier on my way home, only to recieve a muffled response and an excuse: he was sleeping.
So the lines on the highway were blurred with thought, and my spirit split as I took the Kilby road exit to Route 50 and my home. A lesser half of me remained in my body, while a better (?) part tore down the highway that extra 20 minutes. I did not wake him, though, merely made a spot for myself in his warmth.
I won't say I sleep soundly when I am with him. I've been having nightmares, lately, nightmares about this move he is planning to make, nightmares about his ex-girlfriend, nightmares about Ryan; nightmares, mostly, about his feelings for me. But then I wake up and he is there, and he rolls over and throws an arm about me, squeezing in his incoherence, burying his face in the pillow and mine into his chest.
I can smile now and think of our mockfighting yesterday, the raspberries, the punches, the tumbling from mattress to floor. We ran to Kroger's for some snacks and he carried me on his back. I gestured my foot in the direction of pork rinds and tortilla chips.
I never got dessert.
astera at 10:39 p.m.