and i wanted to get home and write. i left a message, sometimes you hear a song on the radio and it's so good that you don't finish it, because you have to call someone you care about.
and what do we do?
bond over movies, music, family, life stories, meet out there in the middle and build something in the space, feel it's shape, reflection.
i'll write you a river, carry you to the sea. i can list off a bucket full of bullshit, far more than that trite attempt at novelty you gave me our second night, and i know that i loved you in a way that was previously impossible. i loved you like never before.
i slept in my car. and why do we do what we do?
the ocean was black and blue, bruised morning. i drank coffee and lifted my lights up. my friend and i were talking about the good dying young, she was brave and honest and we spoke about loving some more despite it all, feeling everything.
and i can see the beauty in all things.
