on a very small sofa,
in the backhand corner of a very big tree,
at the end of a dirt road,
the kind from that book,
the one we loved,
and I parked as much up there as I could,
and I found a chest,
where we could hide everything that didn't make sense in the other drawers,
and no one would judge us for that,
because there were too many bad things going on to notice stuffed drawers
and closets
and nonsense upon nonsense
so in a way it was a license for mess,
but also the condemnation of it,
right?
right?
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