Sunday, March 24, 2013

I will pick you up for coffee on those dusty mornings in my head. Your hand effortlessly finding my knee under the table and I’ll stare into my latte wondering exactly how I got here, to this corner with you from where, even after years, there is no escape. I can listen songs from artists and their voices snap me back into the muscles of your lofted room. How many have you affected this way and could’ve I been one?