sorry about being late.

you came running around the side of the house like a puppy all eager and silent and jumping over bushes.
then you sat on me. you got lake-colored eyes. sometimes brown, sometimes coke bottle green, sometimes in between.
i cried and freaked out more times around you than anyone else. that might mean something, but i can't figure out what.
it was so hot outside that we did not make it all the way down the road.
instead we sat next to your ice-producing air conditioner which, through its own puddle creation and electric nature, tried to kill you.
i am glad it did not kill you.