a few days off, a tank full of gas, a few good friends, a few substances to abuse, some instruments to play and the open road.
I miss exploring LA. i miss the city. I miss being a dumbass kid who thought she could get away with anything (and for the most part did). I miss lying in the back of his convertible with my feet up and my eyes closed, trying to think as little and feel as much as possible. i miss the days when no music was too loud, no distance was too far, no risk too big.
I miss oblivion. I miss not giving a fuck. It's something that I realize I'll never genuinely feel again. but sometimes when the weather's just right, if i close my eyes and lie in the sun and the right song comes on my ipod i can pretend i'm young again, because i'm never too old to pretend.
i wrote a poem about him in class today. it goes:
sit me on your lap
push me to the floor
bold and craven from your body
i'm hungry at your feet.