my father always keeps a hammock in the back of his car,
as if one day we will camp out under a million stars.
that's the kind of spontaneity i long for.
the closest i have gotten was confronting you this week,
and my only result was burned bridges.
i have never camped out under the stars, never gotten drunk, never kissed a stranger.
but i told you i was mad at you and i told you i did not care if you were mad at me too,
and now it is one am and i cannot breath and i feel like i am going to throw up because i cannot stop thinking about last year at this time.
i can't think of one thing that was the same.  i'm not even sure i'm still the same person.

some things sound so weird in past tense.