On the strangeness of truth

You wouldn’t believe it, but I was once dumped in a park while a couple stepped around goose poop to have their engagement photos snapped beneath lime-colored leaves. 

You wouldn’t believe it, but whenever I get lonelier than I previously thought possible, I just take a walk downtown and surround myself with train car awnings, staged displays, and afternoon drunks. It’s good for mental momentum. 

You wouldn’t believe it, but I once fell in love with a guy who called me darlin’ and smoked without stinking. 

You wouldn’t believe it, but based on my dating history, if you want to kiss me, you just need to play an instrument, be crippled by depression, have no concept of self, hide behind your empathy, or just have an active Okcupid account. 

You wouldn’t believe it, but I’d like to reinvent myself. Go from this melancholy cardigan-wearing blonde to a fiery alpha woman. This transformation is possible. It’s happened after two or three vodka lemonades. 

  

You wouldn’t believe this, but tonight I wrote for two hours by citronella candlelight with the company of the dumbest junebug in the state of Wisconsin. 

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