“i’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way (s)he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled christmas tree lights.”
I’ll be waiting for you nigga right here, on Hennessy Beach
If I were a poet my writing would be your afternoon high; your only craving.
I’d be able to paint a vivid picture of a skyline everyone wishes to wake up to.
Sunrise to sunset all hues of reds and blues would stain their eyes with my words of love for you.
Everyone would be jealous, I know it.
I wish I was a poet.