is it weird that you make me wanna do yoga to james vincent mcmorrow early in the morning,
sipping green tea and writing letters and paying off debts,
your my clean slate,
my favorite mate,
and i dont worry about the things that im not when you so clearly love all that i am,
i try to tell my mother about how well we fit ,
hip to hip,
chin to chest,
hand to hand,
but i cant gather up the broken pieces of our reflections fast enough,
its never enough,
always wanting more