Your Fonder Heart

"I am friends with you two on different levels (read: i hang out with the two of you seperately and exclusively. Combining you two would be weird and potentially dangerous - you may find holes in my story, the recreated me I've been developing since moving here)." - me - personal insight by fluke. " your honesty is unpredictable and your vulnerability is disarming . you never disappoint." - Robyn Mooney - very poetic, and very flattering to my ego

Empty promises, broken hearts, loose lips, sinking ships. Piano keys, broken strings, mo-town blues, bred to lose. highways coastlines falling leaves slanted thieves.

The streets are static at this hour, but the avenues are lined with trees. And there's a rabbit running north along the yellow line. What a brilliant display of audacity, while I'm feeling like... falling leaves, electricity, forgotten languages. Something romantic, but lost, like 'take a penny, leave a penny' jars, or the second receipt that nobody wants. Unspoken confessions, damp sleeves, gutters filled with cigarettes butts. Reopened wounds shallow skin deep salt water burning. Have you got a light? Won't you spend the night? I'm sending this storm out west, to you.

I love the coast the most.

When ink smudges look like llamas, or if you really could fly by taping feathers to yourself and moving your arms so fast it hurts, and the time your lunch monitor saw you wiping your boogers on your pants and looked disgusted. And what if time travel was possible and the world's most powerful nation saved itself from international recession by becoming peaceful and what would your mother say if she heard that tone you took with your sister, but who would play doctor for you if there weren't any band-aids in the house, because you never bought any, because you were alone and destined to be so forever and hoped if you cut your finger bad enough with that damn knife you always use for the wrong thing, then maybe, just maybe, possibly, being lonely wouldn't matter any more.

Exactly the kind of vacant feeling associated with car dealerships. Something you can't put your finger on, something not quite right; like a grey sky with no hope of rain or sun. And the mystery of railroads... and the way you feel lifeless during winter, surrounded by decaying deciduous trees. You just want to go home, to summer, to popsicles and sun tan lotion and waves, and girls in bikinis and cars with no tops. But mostly just the green, the green, the green. Baseball diamonds forests dog trails graveyards backyards back doors screen doors locked doors open. But for now, it's winter, and you can't quite put to words why you're so quiet, and you can't quite explain why you cry when someone changes the radio station, but it exists. Just like you do, probably. And just like I do, probably.

HOW CAN YOU LOVE SOMEONE WHO CAN'T EVEN LIKE THEMSELVES!?