I’m a pipin’ hot mess. It’s been goin’ on for a while, I haven’t said anything. Nothing’s been the same since New York.
Oh really? I didn’t notice that. At all.
You experience things. Then they’re over and you still can’t explain ‘em? Gods, aliens, other dimensions? I’m just a man in a can. The only reason I haven’t cracked up is probably because you moved in. Which is great. I love you, I’m lucky. But honey, I can’t sleep. You go to bed, I come down here, I do what I know. I tinker. The threat is imminent and I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without. That’s you. And my suits? They’re, ah..
They’re part of me.
They’re a distraction.
take a moment to realize you have never seen your face in person, just reflections and pictures
some scientists agree that if you saw a clone of yourself, you wouldn’t recognise it as you, because our idea of what we look like is so different from what we actually look like
your bra strap is showing please hide it because it is suggestive. also your boobs are producing lumps in your shirt please hide them. your butt is in the same situation please get rid of it. also your legs. your arms. your face.
I can see your feet and it’s very distracting and slightly arousing.