“Kiss me, Barbie Jesus!”
“Oh, my gosh, how do you get your hair so soft?”
“I wash it.”
“You are so pretty!”
“No, you are.”
“No! You are!”
“No, Paz, I don’t think you look tired, incoherent, sweaty, drugged up, close to death, sunburned or unhealthy”, said no one ever.
– Wow, are you Jesus?
– Are you my guardian angel?
– No. I’m your future white blonde self if you don’t stop abusing drugs.
– Are you sure you’re not Jesus?
Why is she always a sweaty mess?
I’m glistening just looking at her.
“Didya c-climb outtada shcreen ta kill me?”
“Come on Paz, that’s – I’m not even like, wet.”
“Ooooooh, wamme ta make you?”
“Thank you so much for breaking me out of that place. I’ve been lost in there for three months.”
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