I mean it this time. (I'm glad it's spring.)

Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you and your stupid guitar. You are never going to make it. (I am not usually this bitter or mean.)

I write you haikus about nature and modesty and childhood (things you'd like). I keep them on the palms of my hands. Most of the time they rub off before I even get the idea to tell you about them. I keep thinking this is a sign, then I realize that 's wha t i've thou ght about you sin ce the beginn ing.

"Cities are being destroyed by thousands upon thousand of homesick girls and boys, and all I can think of is you." second-guess. third-guess. the fourth, the fifth - you know.