*I guess this is my version of a love letter :) the title is from my all-time favorite book by Nick Burd.
Dear perpetual stranger,
In august, I saw you at a neighborhood get-together
and though we both said it was stupid and boring,
the truth is I didn't mind because your irises were
filled with buttery gingerbread and your Clark Kent
type smile made me feel like I wasn't a sad story,
doing somersaults through the summer.
Trailer park flowers grow outside your front door,
but I walk up the road leading to it
with excitement ramming in my chest because
at least, we get to sit on the sofa
and talk about nothing,
sharing phantom glances between us.
Sometimes that alone
is paradise, baby, but
only a small part of it
like the one window
in your grandma's rustic beige house.
And I want a whole lot more..
I want corn husks glowing
neon green under a three
dollar Saturday night moon,
ice cream on your cheeks
and castaway lights flickering down
the deserted streets as
our lips meet shamelessly.
Is it too much?
I don't think so.
for the exact same thing
and get it in bucketfuls
of black-eyed Susans
and grocery store buttermilk.
But I'm left fingering
a worthless phone
and wondering if I'm the least
likely person to survive
an accidental drowning.
Dear chaotic dreamer,
She told me not to
sell myself short,
that perhaps you'd
like the hand-me-down blue
in my eyes and the way my
clothes stick to my
body whenever it
Our mutual friend said that
you were asking about me
vintage avenues that
And there's something
really intoxicating about this;
it's the hope
that she's telling the truth.
Dear lightning bolt lover,
There was a killer thunderstorm, remember?
But you still stopped by
with cool crystal drops
sliding down your jacket and a grin that
whispered, "I'm up for anything."
There was iced tea in the kitchen,
sports on the television and your
hands on either side of my neck.
The book on the living room desk
was about a boy who wanted to fly
but I never understood the plot
before you pulled me down on
the floor and kissed me,
while uttering a broken
sound in the back of your throat
like a caged mockingbird, dying.
It was eerie but warm..
In the background,
a song interrupted my thoughts;
"The vast fields of
ordinary", verse one.