let lemons be angry

I hope dawn had an interesting birthday. I'd never lied so much as i did yesterday. The hardest part was coming up with something to stall for time in the toilet while the macaroon cake was being sent to the table. It was a single cubicle; i pushed dawn back in and closed the door. It was weird for both of us, of course. I pulled in all the names that popped into my head, and so concocted a story as i went along about the Friday Night Club that the humanities boys and our class boys were secretly involved in, a shady organisation with shady activities. I didn't go into why I had to tell her right at that moment, in that toilet cubicle, but it worked just fine.

And all I realise i want are the simple things. The companionship, the ability to laugh over unglam photos of sweet potato dumplings in our mouths, boring walks down lanes with all the shops closed. Just like 5-year-olds, happy to have found our very own friends. The stories we tell only facilitate the friendships.