Pulp Fiction

Im trying to quit smoking. I am quitting smoking. I love my boyfriend, but he's been pissing me off tonight. I still love him. my nose is running, and these back steps are getting colder. So much so that my nose is running. I miss my Dad. I miss my Mom, too. They're both gone a lot but tonight she was home. She put on a song which I intend to eventually get tattooed on my body in her hand writing. She held me tight and we danced until the audienced roared, and after she left the room I cried at the sink, because some day I won't be able to dance with her.