to whom it may concern:
i want to shake this town. shake it like kerouac, fifty dollars crumpled in pockets and his hair tossed in the icy wind, thinking of the west to keep him warm. i do not want much out of life, just love, which is to say that perhaps i want quite a bit.
i enjoy talking for hours but what i enjoy more is not talking for hours and feeling a silence as comfortable as skin. but sometimes my skin is not comfortable which is why i think i need you. i would like an apartment with a room reserved for jazz and tea with hardwood floor but any floor will do so long as i can pretend it is hardwood and so long as i can leave it at a moment's notice. i do not like change, but i like it considerably better than dying. and i am not dead, but i am not living in the sense of hands flying through the wind at seventy-five-miles-per-hour and laughing until i am crying and sometimes crying until i am laughing. however you live, do it with fire, i say. i would like to sleep hundreds of miles from any but a few choice souls and i would also like to find myself drifting off under brightbright city lights buzzing and snapping.
but this is all irrelevant. it does not matter the where's and the what's but the who's. the who's who laugh with you to your favorite movie and cry with you to your worst nightmare. who eat a pack of ramen with you when there is not much and maybe share an all-too-expensive glass of wine when there is enough.
parners in crime. nobody's called shotgun yet. but still, if you wanted to hold me tonight, i would not be opposed.
i want to shake this town. shake it like kerouac, fifty dollars crumpled in pockets and his hair tossed in the icy wind, thinking of the west to keep him warm. i do not want much out of life, just love, which is to say that perhaps i want quite a bit.
i enjoy talking for hours but what i enjoy more is not talking for hours and feeling a silence as comfortable as skin. but sometimes my skin is not comfortable which is why i think i need you. i would like an apartment with a room reserved for jazz and tea with hardwood floor but any floor will do so long as i can pretend it is hardwood and so long as i can leave it at a moment's notice. i do not like change, but i like it considerably better than dying. and i am not dead, but i am not living in the sense of hands flying through the wind at seventy-five-miles-per-hour and laughing until i am crying and sometimes crying until i am laughing. however you live, do it with fire, i say. i would like to sleep hundreds of miles from any but a few choice souls and i would also like to find myself drifting off under brightbright city lights buzzing and snapping.
but this is all irrelevant. it does not matter the where's and the what's but the who's. the who's who laugh with you to your favorite movie and cry with you to your worst nightmare. who eat a pack of ramen with you when there is not much and maybe share an all-too-expensive glass of wine when there is enough.
parners in crime. nobody's called shotgun yet. but still, if you wanted to hold me tonight, i would not be opposed.
