I love the fact that on a 12.5 hour drive to the most southern tip of this country I will come across about 350,000 cars. And in each of these cars there are people with just as many memories of how their cousins tormented them during those ageold family reunions in the middle of nowhere. With fears of the future coming forward and the past coming back. With allergies to pollen, cats, and assholes. With some opinions of religions, where Humanity is going, and how great an impact we have. I love the fact that its not all background noise. And the grit of growing up is fully romanticized (and justly so!).

I love the fact that "love" itself isn’t entirely bullshit. Sure, I hate how the word has lost a lot of its glory from being thrown around all the time, but the fact that the concept hasnt been swallowed up entirely gives me a bit of hope. I really hate tossing that word around though...when you say it, you should know the weight it carries. And if you do mean it, and know the weight it carries, say it to who deserves it...too often people forget...

I love those iconic things that people have. One of my close friends wears a beanie almost as often as he wears skin. My sister will always have a guitar in her hand and a grin on her face. My arch-nemesis has a cigg on his ear, plaid shorts on his legs, and douchebag rolling off his tongue at any given nanosecond. I have this map of New York about 1.5 feet from my keyboard right now...because one of these days this scene will cave in and smoke me out from NC, and put me in a car or (if summer pays well) on a plane to JFK. Hopefully I'll go with someone I hardly know, like one of those people on a 12.5 hour road trip. Or someone from college I know only through that ridiculously distancing head nod of acknowledgement that guys are famous for committing. Or maybe even you, whoever the hell you are, and whatever the hell you stand for/against.


I love the brutally honest. The "spill your guts" people. Mind games are a bitch for both sexes. The extent of my detective skills stops at mastering "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego" on my computer in 4th grade, I cant decipher what your cat-and-mouse games mean. Too much communication is caught in redtape and caution. Though I'm being hypocritical, because I do it a lot, I get tired of playing verbal diplomacy like it was a card game. It seems sometimes you're sacrificing trust for personal safety. And it seems that the older you get, and the more convoluted your problems become, the more valuable trust gets. So for those of you who speak your mind, congrats, my red, ace-of-spades wielding Fedora is off to you.


Anonymous
11:46:00 AM