this was not written by me. supriti posted this in 2008, but i dont know whether she wrote it or not. either way, i think its a beautiful piece of writing.
"this is about not wanting to leave out any details, not wanting to miss a beat, not wanting to forget a moment, a smile, a smell, a taste. not wanting to forget the color of anyone's eyes, the sound of anyone's voice, the shape of anyone's hands.
this is about coffee and clove cigarettes and layered clothes, messy hair, beatup shoes, dirty hands and dirty nails. sore throat from screaming into the wind. sore eyes from constantly searching searching searching for i don't know what.
and this is about you, yr hopes and fears, yr dreams and nightmares. tell me yr secrets. tell me what inspires you.
this is about staying in bed all day while rain beats on the window, while brown leaves float through a bruise-colored sky. this is about old books, the beautiful pattern of words on yellow paper, the smell of dust and memories and make-believe.
this is about peter pan and wendy, about not wanting to grow up even though we know we're not children anymore. we stay up late with the windows open, smoke blowing out, cold air coming in. we sleep in our jeans and dirty t-shirts, ready to slip on shoes and have an adventure at a moment's notice.
this is about the sick-sweet smell of 99-cent incense, marijuana, camel menthols, marlboro 27s, and cake-scented body spray. and scent is the sense most tied to memory. i will always remember strawberry lips and blondehairhaloes and greengold eyes that give away lies.
this is about sharing our body heat, our clothes, our cd's, our drugs. this is about us. this is all about us. me and you against the world, kid.
and this is about the words coming so fast i trip over them and forget where i'm going. this is about getting lost on the road to nowhere. about sparing for change at gas stations so we can get to the next town.
this is about you sneaking up on me in my dreams. and the way i awake and feel for you next to me. you're not there, but i can imagine yr head on the pillow, yr hand on my hipbone, yr covergirl eyelashes that make me so jealous.
this is about the music that flows through all of us. this is about the way i carry you in my veins. this is about my heart pounding with my feet, my hands grasping for everything. i'm hungry, starving, for fresh air and guitar chords and open maps and djarum blacks and converse hi-tops and black blue orange red hoodies and stars in the sky that i'm always looking to and you. all of you. every bit.
that's what this is all about.
the way you hold my arm when we're drunk, the way you squeeze my shoulders when we've been awake for 36 hours straight, the way you lay yr head on my lap and close yr eyes and let me play with yr hair.
this is about running from the cops and running blindly into the future. and laughing -- we're always laughing laughing laughing even when we aren't speaking.
the way you always seem to know exactly what i'm thinking.
the way you cook breakfast for me at four in the afternoon.
the way you wake me up and say, "do you need a cigarette?"
the way we shout with our favorite songs as we ride down backroads with the bright lights on.
this is about mix-cd's and pawning our shit so we can go to shows and writing lyrics on my bedroom walls, in notebooks, on our hands, on each other. this is about matching tattoos, matching scars, matching ideas, matching souls.
this is about "soco amaretto lime" and "you must be willing" and ted leo and drug money and lil wayne and the way we hug each other.
this is about tarot cards and bob dylan and hwy 41, hwy 74, i-75, euclid ave, moreland ave, ponce de leon and his fountain of youth.
this is about running out of paper, running out of ink, running out of gas, but never running out of ideas, never running out of inspiration, never running out of love, and refusing we're running out of time. 'cause we can't, we can't run out of time. when you take everything else away, all we have is time.
and each other."
