Chronoligical.

After three hours of rain, the water's up to my knees. The incomprehensible reflection takes me back to days marked by fast food habits and even nastier drug habits, for most. So many nights spend in opaque cars with three windows tinted and no one calling shotgun. The best things in life cost as much as two batted eyelash and one extra X. Cleaning was a professional sport, and the unraveling aftermath was the highlight of the did we get away with it? anxiety. Mind blown, eyes closed; drawing lines in your mind when everyone else thought you were down for the count. I always write songs I won't remember in the morning.

Movies and musings poke at the sides of your ticklish forgetfulness; they have you wishing for brown bits of paper and safety scissors. Something like arts and crafts on a Saturday night, seemingly innocent and utterly malicious, because we can hold onto the thrill. I am marked by old phone drafts and the list (or three) you wouldn't understand if you found them. From one-liners to unhinged songs, the only one I held onto. I delete the ones that shade my cheeks, the ones when clouded eyes turned stormy. Help me, I'd say, just to wake up and laugh. I needed nothing at all to be fine when I fled. I would do anything to make the most of time and place. Days go on, and I do within them.

It's almost been long enough to carry the worst case scenario to term. If I hadn't spent my dollars on you, I could've spent my birthday screaming out my worst mistake. We make mistakes when we're young, because we're stupid enough to make the wrong decision; there's an offbeat shade of beauty in this blissful ignorance. We are conditioned to exist. Do you see the way I've learned? Because the stories sell you out; you're one to make the same mistake twice, thrice, countless times until life has you following in your first role model's footsteps. Along white picket balance beams, you'll find me playing peacemaker to the oh so undeniably undecided. From here, your words are unmistakably readable despite near-blind eyes.

At night I sit down to homework and wish I could blur the edges. Passion in tracing sparrows, necessity in character analysis. I'd rather lend mine to unwilling, sometimes-present runners with snags behind thoughtful speech. The art I apply to culture is modern, not so still life, having nothing to do with those that reside in ancient hearts alone. I'll probably never know the passerby I see from time to time that has the same smile you once wore. Family teaches us how to grow up without growing old. Two empty triangular glasses, bruises, and a soggy deck of cards tuck you into bed at night; wake up smiling with a dry throat and consider yourself a success. You're what matters more than any schoolboy that gets my heart rate speeding. I always say my goodbyes in letters. The sound of my voice falters where words stand unrepentant. If you care to stay around, words are the well-lit path when midnight falls on me.

Vices tag along; we fight over beds and call our resting heads home. Despite a repetitive nature, we're never too bored to live our nights like we need nothing but a handful of bodies and a heart sloshing full. Worn out boots are nothing next to days when no one else seemed to draw air in. I don't mind sharing clothes and tuneless songs. I'd take your company over rainless days. I may stay curious despite being skeptical. If I ever find myself in your favorite space, I think I'd try on one of those famed shirts. Sleeves swallow whole what I'm dying to keep to myself. Every breath of summer takes me back to the way familiar smells were always lacing with the greenest landscapes. Even the slightest taste will be gone soon. Hold onto what you can; it's always the things you let slip away that you'll one day find yourself wishing back.

Save your breath and leave your mind. Send the one you want a letter; leave it unsigned.
If it's what you need, they'll know. If you're worth the risk; let go.