We lean back in the white leather couches shooting the shit about love, life, and the pursuit of happiness... I look over and see my genetics hovering over my shoulder. I tell you about the difficulty of maintaining it all and you say "do you think it will all change after a month or so when she goes back?" It seems so fucking perfectly timed as I see what I see in an almost ironic moment...
and I crawl back into the ice-layer cape of my genetics, knowing that my destiny is not my destination.

I look back on my hungover and confused body; sitting there on the bench by the beach in Ventura. I ask, "am I a bad girlfriend?" You say "no. You just need the time..." and I look back over my shoulder....