My life is poetry! Everything is so beautiful. I'm just not talented enough to tell you about it. I could practice writing, maybe take a class, maybe start a career. But then I realised, as I lay in bed one night during my recent visit to my parents house, that I'm wasting my time trying to retrieve that one perfect summer. 1995 at EMF. Or was it 1998 in Russia? I can't keep my memories straight. I'm feeling crowded. I need some fresh air, I need a cigarette.
I need a drink, with some loud music in the background, and some dark. Oh yeah, I think I DO know where to find that, as a matter of fact. It's the title of a book: I call it "Rocking in Denver."
Youngest child syndrome: we never "grow up" all the way, apparently. That will be nice when I'm 50.
That one perfect summer.
I'm feeling a little scattered tonight. Did you notice?
I need a drink, with some loud music in the background, and some dark. Oh yeah, I think I DO know where to find that, as a matter of fact. It's the title of a book: I call it "Rocking in Denver."
Youngest child syndrome: we never "grow up" all the way, apparently. That will be nice when I'm 50.
That one perfect summer.
I'm feeling a little scattered tonight. Did you notice?
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I'm an only child who was spoiled rotten, so I expect to never grow up, either.
My life is like poetry too. Bad poetry! Like barry manilow meets pablo naruda.
Left boulder at age of 12 because mom moved to alaska and I wasn't ready to get an apartment of my own.