as lykke li says,

i'm good, i'm gone.

and i'd wager nary a one of you will notice.

missing piece.

sometimes...i just don't know where i fit in. i don't think you consider me your friend; i'm not honestly sure you consider me at all, except perhaps in a moment where i bring you some sort of amusement. when i pursue your friendship, when i make you feel tall.

i'm not sure why i've always been relegated to the fringe. i'm not sure why i bother seeking my height amongst pillars that value me so little.

am i so disposable? am i so laughable?

i can almost hear you, saying i told you so...why are you still reading?

intra-atlanticism. or something.

the pull of california is mighty strong these days...

home.

thankful,

for long strides and strong legs
for focus and determination
for a sharp mind
for sharp knives
for dreams and ideas
for this voice
for two months sans cigarettes
for bourbon
for sleep
for the ability to see things as i do
for friends
for the death of fear
for love
for you (your breath at dawn, the smell of your skin)