Throw your newsboy cap in the frothy fountain behind the rain. Remember the time I slipped, no, fell, no, tripped, and scrapped my knees on the blank concrete? The cold damp air reminds me of home, an unknown home that I have yet to find.

Word.

Freshly painted toenails dipping into the sand. Fingertips typing motionlessly as the keys click in an almost rhythmic pattern. I wait for your patience and my phone call. The memory of a wasted past revisits my future and I sigh. The thought of one to share the next week with. The thought of red and yellow tulips greeting the unknown doorstep. I wish I had some hope left in me but the tension in my shoulders resides where hope once had a home. These shoulders could touch my ears with confidence and class. One day I will be home, they sigh. One day I will be home. I'm so bored with this hopelessness. Does anyone use this journal B.S., or am I the only smuck who bothers?

everything is not ok...... everything is not ok...all these people with these phony handshakes......its your birthday.... nobody made you a cake......everything is not ok...... drowning in self pity..... you said we would move to the city.....all crowded no one to hear us cry at night....everything is not ok...... I don't know what it's from, but it was in my friends' profile, and it just fits with this evening. Wow, this is just as bad as livejournal.

I need something to jump on. Concrete would do perfectly. The unsettledness of my stomach. The smile that sneaks up when you're not looking. The senseless beating of my heart that makes me listen to Vagrant songs until I scream 'uncle' with the bombardment of catchy love songs. You're catchy. Please stop me before I write my own Vagrant love song.