Hey smash me I turn beautiful, turn a thousand shades of green colour of my eyes of my father’s eyes colour of the place in my head where desire is a symptom of disease.

Five crinkled dollars (smelling of perfume samples and the less-visited corners of my friends' purses) and I've got more than life lines etched into my chilly palms. I was thinking so much, details about tragedies and comedies but now it's just Ben Folds on repeat and I understand him now like you understood me, your initials in blue highlighter held between my hipbones like a banner.

After-show, salt-and-paprika hair, stage makeup on your cheek, and it's a lovely, blurry sight as you flail and jump and you run down the corridors, Ben Folds in my head again telling me to follow you into the dark and I sound like a show pony, heels clicking a few steps behind your sneaker squeaks as we round the corners, cross-country legs acting before my left brain even analyzed the possible consequences though I know I would have ignored them anyway.

All of us outside gyrating and screaming and dancing because that is our purpose, our callling at this particular moment in time and it's maybe the eighth time we've all said goodbye but not one of us is willing to leave, so I wait my turn after the hugs and I go in and you surprise me with the first one and you are my new caffeine but we are pulling away so I go grudgingly, step back for the others and then there is more laughing and calling to others but as they walk away I stay behind for A Real One and I don't know what to do and wish I had a pocket manual to consult or something because it's the first and it's you but I go in anyway, my veins pumping rocket-fuel blood and it hits me that I am the luckiest and I've got music and I've got daisies in green pastures.

They tease me on the way back though I traded for shotgun to hide from them because the blush and smile is visible in the windshield's reflection and my dimples are so sore from this cheshire grin plastered on my face. I am considering that maybe my thoughts are creepy but it's just a mental process and I am thinking that everyone deserves to learn that lips are ridiculously soft. I rewind myself because Self-Deprecation knocks and wants to tell me that I did something wrong but I know it's okay because I don't even know what's right.

Except this.