i stopped liking phone calls when they stopped being interesting,
round the same time that life started getting interesting,
then you called.
and all of the sudden all i wanted was another phone call out of life.
takes me back to sleepin in a small bed
with a not-so-tall red head
discussion, movie, music, food, cigarettes placed sporadic throughout.
and spirits just never tasted so good as when we could share them on your cold, wet back porch.
and the alleyways spoke to me, while the rogue fat cat lived in the wilderness of that backyard.
and i've been writing this in my mind for a month now, lucy.
i've been writing this in my mind for a month now.we have this thing, and i hate to spoil it by objectifying it as such, but we have this thing, where somehow in the appearance of one another, we're bound by nothing.you teach me,
my so-called open mind stretches beyond comprehension.
so in the moment,
so unplanned, sometimes mistaken for unprepared,
we just don't have to try at all
so we don't.