(no subject)
two days before you died, i was telling a friend how much i miss you. that i needed to call you. that i wanted to have fun like that again. but alas, my stoner mind forgot. it should be on an anti-weed commercial. you forget to call a friend to hang out, then they die and you feel like shit for the rest of your life.
you had given me a grateful dead shirt. i let a friend borrow it and after your death, we stopped being friends. she refused to give it back, saying she gave it to a homelesss person. (but really, she made her default picture a picture of her wearing that shirt.. fucking immature, right?) that was all i had left of you... but i was digging in my random shit box last night and there was a picture you drew of me.. and i almost started crying. it was the one i'd been looking for since you died. since she wouldn't give the shirt back. since the wave of mutilation cd you gave me had split in half. i just hugged it and couldn't stop smiling. it's almost like you put it there.
and i miss you too fucking much. i am so sorry i never called you. god knows if i did we would have hung out, smoked a little, and just laughed our asses off, probably. you would probably put on some pixies and we would scream and dance, but i probably wouldn't dance. i'd just sing and watch and laugh and know how much i love you.
i'd know how you are the only person in my entire life to make me pull over on the side of the road to do something completely irrelevant and random. to run in a corn field while chugging vodka, to take videos going down a road where tresspassers are to be shot. to steal wine every day for two weeks, to drink it during lunch and take turns asking the most personal questions.
we were on a personal quest to find ourselves. to be defined in a place where everyone looks, acts, and wants to be the same. and we did stand defined, braced for the wind to hit our faces, and we were displaced. it was a good thing. we were ready. we were willing. we were able. and we wouldn't have stopped for anyone.
the truth is, without you, i can't start again.
you had given me a grateful dead shirt. i let a friend borrow it and after your death, we stopped being friends. she refused to give it back, saying she gave it to a homelesss person. (but really, she made her default picture a picture of her wearing that shirt.. fucking immature, right?) that was all i had left of you... but i was digging in my random shit box last night and there was a picture you drew of me.. and i almost started crying. it was the one i'd been looking for since you died. since she wouldn't give the shirt back. since the wave of mutilation cd you gave me had split in half. i just hugged it and couldn't stop smiling. it's almost like you put it there.
and i miss you too fucking much. i am so sorry i never called you. god knows if i did we would have hung out, smoked a little, and just laughed our asses off, probably. you would probably put on some pixies and we would scream and dance, but i probably wouldn't dance. i'd just sing and watch and laugh and know how much i love you.
i'd know how you are the only person in my entire life to make me pull over on the side of the road to do something completely irrelevant and random. to run in a corn field while chugging vodka, to take videos going down a road where tresspassers are to be shot. to steal wine every day for two weeks, to drink it during lunch and take turns asking the most personal questions.
we were on a personal quest to find ourselves. to be defined in a place where everyone looks, acts, and wants to be the same. and we did stand defined, braced for the wind to hit our faces, and we were displaced. it was a good thing. we were ready. we were willing. we were able. and we wouldn't have stopped for anyone.
the truth is, without you, i can't start again.