Will you love me when I'm 80
When I walk and talk real slow?
Will you love my wrinkles
If I let them show?
Will you hold me every night
And kiss me in the morning light?
And when I see my last sunrise
Will you hold me when I die?

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

When I picture my own funeral,
I see a young person in a box.
She is never old.
And though I am sure my family is there,
I forget to paint them in.
I see other young people
Sad, but mostly occupied
By whispering of my newly exposed secrets.
And the people I truly care about,
The only ones with nice things to say--
Simeon the ice cream man,
Ronny the busker,
Adam the hobo,
Maria the dream and Maria the ghost,
Hoodie Man the hero,
And Chris the ****** addict,
Are nowhere to be found,
For how could they have heard the news?
And a few years later,
When they realize I have not made an appearance
In quite some time
They will wonder what happened
To that girl they called solitude
And smile because they can only assume
That most likely I finally left the country
To follow my dream
And try to be happy.
And they will live the rest of their lives
Completely unaware
That my grave longs to be pressed on
By their feet
And my flowers watered
By their tears.

It's strange how this scent doesn't smell like comfort anymore
It only smells like things that don't exist anymore
All the things we let slip away without even watching them go
It's strange how this scent is only a reminder anymore
A reminder of how it's not easy anymore
Because the satisfaction of simplicity wore off before we could appreciate it


It's strange how this scent doesn't smell like comfort anymore
It only smells like the realization that you can't say I'm wrong

Suede shying from raindrops,
I think;
How long until the dawn?

I'm lost in a forest
The sun is hiding
I seek to do the same

Reading lines off cue cards,
I'm singing
I love you
But the words aren't mine

A boy can love on a blue moon
or when the sun sets in the east,
and I'm wondering if this is a curse
or a blessing

As I'm working up the strength to tell you
I can't do this anymore