It's not unlike me to become obsessed with a single song.
When I was 11 it was almost exclusively how I listened to music
- one song, one week at a time.
James had to suffer through one of these mornings, and I offered
to him that the reason this song works is the vocals -
if not for them it would be too cheesy for crackers.
"They're dripping with longing and sex," I said.
He smiled in that way that seems like he doesn't fully support my view,
but doesn't have to make a thing about it.
"I think someone else singing it would be just as good," I think he said.
Yeah right.
How'd you like that text I sent you this week?
Pretty intense, huh? Pretty In Tents.
That night at IHOP you were trying so hard. It was truly touching, every awkward
shifting minute going by and you fighting against every instinct to check your phone,
bring the subject to some self-centered shit, trying to respect my space, trying to
"be there" and not make it worse. Fuck. And watching me eat that gross Tilapia
smothered in spinach vomit wtf? You were so dope and I was so fucked up.
Thanks for that.
None of this has to be anything, you know?
It can be fine. We can just get over it.
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