I have a fleeting passion for the things that I do. It comes and goes in fits. I just want to learn the guitar, and for him to be happy. I am fed up of hearing about carbon footprints. My mouth tastes like an ashtray and no amount of toothpaste or mouthwash or floss is taking it away.
I'll just have another cigarette.
The beats and harmonies remind me of you. Like the time we fell in love for fun and tried counting the number of pebbles on the beach. Remember? I collected fleece from wire fences and twisted it to make it strong. My woolen bracelet, I wore that thing for days. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I'm glad we're talking and that we're not in love.
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