When backpacking, there are certain rules that everyone knows like take less than you can carry; you’ll pick up things as you go. Be careful when hitchhiking; follow your gut instinct. Always. Stick to your budget; you don’t wanna run dry in Kansas.
What no one actually tells you is: Don’t fall in love with a town or with a boy in a town.
Oops.
A boy who is settled and nestled in a town is dangerous.
The other roaming, free-loving boys are fine, because they understand and you understand that, like a Lynyrd Skynyrd song, your both freebirds who must be traveling on. These boys are easy to love and set free.
Townies, on the other hand, are like rose-colored poison which seeps into your every thought, but then you don’t really mind.
They show you that their quaint little town doesn’t just look like magic.
It is magic.
They show you that there’s something beautiful in greeting the mailman with “how’s the wife?” the charming town diner where the pie is county-famous the declaration of love on the water tower written in red spray paint.
The boy shows you how to fall in love with a town, and in the town you fall in love with the boy.
They should start printing warning labels on backpacks: WARNING: don’t fall in love with a boy who is settled and nestled in a pint-sized town
because he will clip you wings.
just wrote today trying to get back into my writing groove (and I need to flush all the ****** writing out of my system) (starting with this piece)