Here, why don't we clarify that I was sixteen ONE MORE TIME;
moth month: "the humidity is sucking me dry.
sucking us both dry.
okay, alright, it's acceptable.
moth month: because save for that that soaks into your eyes,
all smoke finds its way
out the driver's seat
in time."
TwoPartsGenre: Which one of us did that?
moth month: you did
TwoPartsGenre: Oh shit
moth month: "coming back from target yesterday, me dressed up in brooke's pretty green/black/orange checked jacket, some foreign-skinned boys pulled up beside us and one started licking the air with his tongue. it was great; and i would have ignored him had brooke not been in my passenger seat,
they turned left shortly after and their tires were screaming. i honked the horn and brooke squealed and it was just a thelma and louise moment."
moth month: "when i stepped out of the shower, brooke was singing beautiful melodies on my bed with my guitar in her arms. i stood by the bathroom door for a few minutes just to listen to her, because i knew she would have stopped had i gone into the room.
she says i'm skinny as i'm walking around my bedroom in just a bra and gray panties. and i think i blushed, or something. it was really nice to hear.
the fog set in later, hugging the landscape and making it hard to see upcoming overpasses. she fell asleep and i smiled, i had to; so cute in my little green borderlands hat with 'fuck tha po-lice' labeled onto the front, her arms crossed and her head tilted over to the side. i turned down a blasting clearwater and finished my cigarette, repeating words in my head, words i've said to him a thousand times when it's just me and an open road. words that one would say to his or her own mirror reflection and shake their head and say, no, that isn't right that isn't right and make a mental scratch through the idea, the expression, the tone of their voice, the tilt of their eyes.
i love you seems so lame."
Brendan text messaged me today.
"Five months," it read.
TwoPartsGenre: Those were good times.
TwoPartsGenre: Vain times
sucking us both dry.
okay, alright, it's acceptable.
moth month: because save for that that soaks into your eyes,
all smoke finds its way
out the driver's seat
in time."
TwoPartsGenre: Which one of us did that?
moth month: you did
TwoPartsGenre: Oh shit
moth month: "coming back from target yesterday, me dressed up in brooke's pretty green/black/orange checked jacket, some foreign-skinned boys pulled up beside us and one started licking the air with his tongue. it was great; and i would have ignored him had brooke not been in my passenger seat,
they turned left shortly after and their tires were screaming. i honked the horn and brooke squealed and it was just a thelma and louise moment."
moth month: "when i stepped out of the shower, brooke was singing beautiful melodies on my bed with my guitar in her arms. i stood by the bathroom door for a few minutes just to listen to her, because i knew she would have stopped had i gone into the room.
she says i'm skinny as i'm walking around my bedroom in just a bra and gray panties. and i think i blushed, or something. it was really nice to hear.
the fog set in later, hugging the landscape and making it hard to see upcoming overpasses. she fell asleep and i smiled, i had to; so cute in my little green borderlands hat with 'fuck tha po-lice' labeled onto the front, her arms crossed and her head tilted over to the side. i turned down a blasting clearwater and finished my cigarette, repeating words in my head, words i've said to him a thousand times when it's just me and an open road. words that one would say to his or her own mirror reflection and shake their head and say, no, that isn't right that isn't right and make a mental scratch through the idea, the expression, the tone of their voice, the tilt of their eyes.
i love you seems so lame."
Brendan text messaged me today.
"Five months," it read.
TwoPartsGenre: Those were good times.
TwoPartsGenre: Vain times