"this tastes like dog shit." i say, shoving my plate of 'eggs' across the table. but of course, my stomach is still rumbling.

you and i ran away about a month ago. you had shitty parents. my parents both passed away in the army. so, we just left. without a trace.

you're also my boyfriend. well, kind of. you are my boyfriend, but we hardly ever kiss or touch intimately. i don't really care.

we're at a waffle house right now, and you're petting my hair as i complain about my food.