Typing and reading and reading and typing, karma sunburns and poolside afternoons,
an overall feeling of that laziness summer so well induces. I keep re-thinking things in my head,
to do and say the things I'd love to, if only I had the courage, spending my nights typing out my life then hiding it away in a secret place.
During the days I continue thinking about it, it's terribly hard to forget, the way we'de all love to be.

Nodding my head to rap music (LOL SUP CHINGY) and drinking a slurpee,
I can't help remembering that bad things come in threes.
I also can't stop thinking about what you said, so long ago, about heartbeats,
and how you only have so many left at any given point. Use them well, he told me. I should.

Additional thought: maybe love is just a question of solubility.
How well you can dissolve into someone's heart, their mind, their soul.
I'd love to be able to do that,
dissolve into someone volitionally.
And what of the insolubles?
Maybe none of us are insoluble, we just think we are.
It's a matter of finding your solvent.


These words I write keep me from total madness. - bukowski