I forget that feeling sometimes. You know, the one I swore I'd never forget after you left me. Maybe there's a reason for it and I just don't want myself to know yet. I have been writing letters to you for years that I know you'll never read. Someone once told me that it was a form of therapy. One that doesn't cost by the hour but makes you feel just as horrible an exhausted. I thought I needed change, but all it did was distract me from the reality that you're still gone and I still miss you every single hour of every single day. The smiles are real, so please don't think I've become fake. It's just one of those illusions. Smoke and mirrors and such. I miss you like back porch summers. The smell of smoke and the taste of cigarettes that I couldn't stand but I kissed you anyway because the moment was calling for it. I look back and wonder how I became so reckless. Maybe there was a reason for it, but I'd be lying if I said I knew what it was. It was a Saturday the last time I kissed your face and hugged you like I didn't want to let go. I can't believe that day has had an anniversary already. 

I've been changing time zones the way you change boys. I sent out an ABP on your conscience. All signs point to no where. I hope you enjoy your "that'll do for now" lifestyle.

its the same routine with you every time.


you really need to get your life in order.


because it's like watching a car wreck.



only a little more sad.

its a shame to think that i still let anyone get the best of me anymore. (i used to give it away. now you have to rip it from my fingers) it's all a series of false starts and starting over. i didn't forget about you this time, i just let the idea linger around my head for a little while before putting it away for safe keeping. maybe you should just keep to the left side of this best coast smile. feel free to tilt your head so it doesn't look as crooked. last night i took a walk to the pier and screamed your name until I lost my voice. I walked back to my hotel with ice cream and a smirk on my face. I call it self medication, you call it mutilation. well, metaphorically speaking, of course. at the end of the day, it's all about what helps you sleep at night.

(no Sam-I-am, i can't go to sleep without an Ambien)


the way she mixes ones and zeroes makes my heart smile.