I love the way you put your stupid

hipster glasses on the collar of your

band t-shirts to fix your straight yet

messy brown hair that you haven't

washed in a week with a thick black

hair tie that you hate to wear on your

wrist when you don't need it because

it's so bulky so you put it in your front

pocket next to two strips of emergency

gum and a can of altiods which you

finish in a day and replace at night


I love when you air guitar in the

middle of Froyo Joe's most likely to a

song on The Front Bottoms CD you're

playing on your Walkman you got at

that one thrift store and everyone

stares at you then stares at me staring

at you, smiling and laughing so much.


And I love how you bow in the most

exaggerated way that anyone could

ever possibly bow because you air

guitared so impressively (you should

definitely start yourself a band) that

the unexpecting audience applauded

you for that marvelous performance

which definitely made their evening


And I love the way you look at me in

the train car when you're dragging me

to the next town because you finally

have enough money to go to the little

store that has the same name as that

one author you love and buy the

vintage coat that smells like moths and

depression because you want to wear

it and feel like a 1923 troubled rich

woman during an early midlife crisis.


I love when you tell me the things you

love about me at 3 a.m. in this diner

after you read to me that God-awful

poem about a woman who hates

shampoo and listens to blue grass

during all her classes and we're sitting

in this diner where all the food tastes

horribly like canola oil and salt and

I am immensely in love with you