Fuck it, I love you.

All these lives

I love where I live. I love you fucked up assholes who are my neighbors. Fuck you, I love you.

Things I want:

• a porcelain claw foot tub
• wood floors 4eva
• a window seat
• a willow tree with a wooden swing
  

Darling, you are like no one I know. I wish to take you away from this place where everyone knows us and spend 3 months alone with you in a place without iPhones, without computers, without television, and lay on a patchwork quilt, the warmth of a lit fireplace washing over our feet as one-by-one we reveal all our secrets and fears and every irrelevant dumb story that somehow naturally weaves its way into serious conversation. We will pretend we are the only people who exist, the only people we've ever known.

...and I want to say that by the end none of it ever mattered and it was like a Vietnamese vacation that oh 'so changed your life' but you live it the same two days after as you did two days before, but I cannot write. I cannot write because I guess I just don't fucking want to. Either that or I'm so goddamn nervous about time and I can't write something good in such a short amount of time I have to eat before work even though I'm not hungry.

So this must wait another day. On that day I will feel just as anxious no matter how much time I have because I'm 25 years old and live in New York City and am supposed to be 'living my life' which means going out and 'taking advantage of what the city has to offer' you bitch. DUH.