The days haven't gone this slow since the David Bowie coming out party. TBT seems as barren as the Iowa corn fields after the Harvest Festival. I dreamt of him last night. His smile glistened in the Florida sunny sun. His eyes looked as though he had shed tears of sadness from his recent struggles becoming a sage. I took his soft hand and guided him through a sunflower field. We reached an old chateau and his face seemed confused. I explained to him that is was the TBT Ruins. In it were hundreds of empty beer bottles and lanky skeletons of past moderators. I told him I was the only one left as tears ran down his soft cheeks. I grabbed his arm and quickly dragged him towards me to hug. I let him cry on my shoulders for four or ten minutes. I rubbed his soft back as I felt my shoulders getting moister and moister. I pulled him back, making full eye contact I leaned in for a kiss. I suddenly woke up and felt disappointed as I couldn't gather enough courage to do it sooner. I have been thinking about him ever since.
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