she tripped on air like a dumb blonde, she stood up without a care like a frog jumping out of the pond, and her hard fall made me lose my sleep, and there was nothing I could do but weep and sing—the love of my life is an airhead—Graciela is a goofy redhead.

I don't want to get better, I don't want to get up from this bed & I want to be sick forever & I want this fever to never end, 'cause only in these special sickly days, you show up at my doorstep with worry in your eyes, & a smile on your face— it makes my heart race, Graciela

I still haven't read the books you recommended, I still haven't watched the movies you told me to see, and I don't plan on seeing and I don't plan on reading them myself, I guess Graciela, I'll dump 'em all on my friends, and learn the whole plot from them.

I've become obsessed with your hair, the way that they just flow in the air, and how these flying hair slap me around without care, which ain't fair, so get a haircut, or lose them all, whatever your choice, go bald Graciela

I feel stupid, I feel betrayed, and I know it's not your fault but it is my mind that gives out the guilty verdict, and Graciela it hates you by default.

I'm not really sad, I'm just really mad that Graciela you didn't think this through, and you let your anxiety and fears become the dam that stops the flood of our love from flowing free like the low and high tides of the ocean.