I hate this feeling of not quite ready to leave
having an ever present flight date
and that it only rained once while I was here
but that it will rain next week when I’m gone
I thought California held magical promises
of summertime gardens fruitful to the point of exhaustion
and reckless freedom
but the only thing I found here was a truth I didn’t want to hear
that I’m lighting the candles and playing the records
I’ve created everything I love inside my head
that doesn’t mean its not real
just that I’ve wasted a lot of days blaming the sun for being too bright.