Old habits die hard…

when you’ve got a sentimental heart.

It seems to me that I may not be comprised of skin cells and blood, but, quite possibly, of glue. Or gum. Or putty. Or even an already-licked lollipop- anything that stuff seems to stick so very stickily that there could very likely never be a way to get it unstuck. If I ever loved a thing, I still do. Experiences, people, places all stick to me as though I’m a contestant on the Million Dollar Sticky (remember that part right before Matilda blows the TV up?).

I’m still shaking Polaroids that were already developed.

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