At the time, I told you it was because I could imagine being old with you but not being young. I've finally figured out what I meant: that you're unwilling to go with the possible joys. Simple things. Stuff we'd do for no reason.

I meant that time that summer I poured apple juice into a mold, stuck it in the freezer, brought you homemade popsicles like a prize or a dead bird, and you wouldn't eat one, said it was stupid because you could've found better ones at the store, kissed me better with an unsticky tongue.


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