there once was a girl who lived in a small house.  not a red house or a green one or even a robin's egg blue one, but a plain, matte colored white house.  it glowed in the dark.  that was her favorite part.  when all the other houses bedded down and sunk into their lawns, her house remained fretfully perched on it's grass like a nervous white dove only it wasn't that pretty.  so perhaps it was closer to a white pigeon.  and it did like to coo.

the girl went to a job she hated like most law abiding citizens.  she held out happiness saying she was "saving up".  she would allow herself a few indulgences like most law abiding citizens.  a movie here, a new car payment there.  anything to tell herself she was getting away.

there's nothing like getting away, she thought.  she searched for escape in other people.  if you don't know what this is like, then watch for the one who stares too long at your eye lashes.  they are wondering what worlds you've beat upon before this one.  they are imagining themselves a fleck of dust resting on your lashes like an arab on a camel.  they want you to take them for a ride.  anywhere, anywhere away from here.

i met her outside her little white house.  i was desperately nursing on the final drops of some delicious stumptown coffee, or perhaps it was folgers, but i like to pretend.  and that's precisely what we found in one another.  pretend.  make believe.  we were both masters of un-reality.