she's cute, that's good. i'm happy for you. really, i am - i promise. it's just that sometimes i really don't understand you or your intentions. and as my best friend - or what used to be called my best friend - i thought that we were supposed to actually talk to each other. especially about things like this.

and sometimes i remember the tattoos that were blazed across her wrists and chest. sometimes i remember the cigarette-and-coffee breath that i, for some reason, liked... despite the fact that i hadn't ever liked it on anyone else.. and maybe i especially liked the fact that everything was a disaster. a beautiful disaster, the kind that they frame on big movie screens in big cities. the kind that changes your life, not in a garden state cliche-way but in a synecdoche, new york kind of way. makes you question your life and your purpose and makes you laugh at the frail inconsistencies that make up life. the stupid things we worry about and the nights we spend trying to fix things we don't understand (and things we can never fix).

i'd die for that feeling right now. the feeling of my legs tingling under the pressure of little white dots... it's been too long.