a white picket fence and blue shutters describes the house i see in my mind. a quaint and childish fantasy, with love blind and hands intertwined. i left my shoes by the door and i left that door unlocked. you locked the door behind you and didn't care enough to have knocked. i built that house to have you in it, and i wanted your shoes by the door. but you don't bother with much of anything and i can hear your steps against the floor. then things get a little lonely and you're the only one sleeping in the bed. and i'm sitting on the hardwood because, well, actually, i forgot to imagine anything else in this godforsaken house except for that bed because i was too busy thinking of you. anyways. things got a little lonely and they hurt a little more. then i made an effort to run from you, but my shoes were still by the door.
the pavement probably would've felt worse than the pain i endure from trying to love you. at least, it feels better to think of it that way.
I must have reread your letter about a couple dozen times In my car with the air on and two windows down. You said you'd taken my jacket and shouldn't leave my car unlocked. You said people like you would come around, but I think maybe not enough. And I love driving recklessly all across the town And some'd say its a waste of gas and time, but it's not a waste of mine And I love it when you're next to me telling me stories of your life I love it even more when it's the half a millionth time I would trade in all my old regrets for all of your secrets And I would give you my whole heart if you'd take care of it And I think about you often in the middle of the of night I wonder every moment if I, too, am on your mind