I'm pretty sure you've written me

off in your mind as crazy, I guess that's the 

only way you can deal with the reality of your

selfishness.

I'm scared to write about you.
I think it might have to do with the fact that we built everything on sand.

Plus I hadn't realized how close we were to the water.

The tide's coming in.

I feel it in my fucking bones.
You're another one too scared to hurt me.
Another one who's already stuck the knife in deep.
And yet another one that's going to leave.
A surprise? Please.

a Conversations in your tub.

Love?"

"Hm."

"Do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Please, shut up."

"What?"

"Quite fucking frankly, I think I’ve heard enough about celebrities. Take my compliment would you? You’ve changed the topic. Now take my compliment you sexy little weirdo”

If I were to describe my heart it would be a car journeying to some far away cabin where I'll find peace.
Every once and a while my heart picks up a vagabond or two on the side of the road. Some stay for a short amount of time- others stay for a really long time. Each one is always different from the last. From the baggage they carry on their shoulders to the mere clothes on their back. They all eventually ask me to pull over, but I remember every single one of them- because when they steal away on their own journey's there's always an empty seat and they've either taken or left something in the car.

You've been hurt irreparably.
I can tell.
It's the way you grasp desperately to connection.
You're not well.

So is the rest of the world.
But you chose me
to share moments separate from monotony.

Thank you.

Wine in boxes.
Soothes the process
to cut my loses.