dear bambi.
i think it might be time to grow up. spring is around the corner so let’s shoot up like the baby sprouts and bask in the brooklyn sunshine. i want to wake up to the smell of flapjacks and coffee brewing and the sound of you singing in the shower. i don’t understand this prison cell they tell me is my home, i want room to spead my long fingers and space for you to dance on those skinny ankles of yours. let’s build a fort and never surrender. we are home baby.
love
huckleberry
