But really though.

Being in love the way I am,
Having loved the way I have…

It’s confused, well
Not exactly.
But that sense of confusion is derived from self-doubt.
Is this real?

I’ve thought so before.
But I was always making

There is none of that here,
in this silly make-believe life that,
We’ll have to go without.
Getting tossed back into the shitstorm
that makes up everybody’s everyday.
How is this going to fare?
Carless, trying to call it freedom in my head but
since my Special Someone is
Far, Ish.
I can’t quite call it freedom, because really?
What is being free if it isn’t being able to buckle up, tighten up, fuel the fuck up and get on your way!?
The places we call home don’t give us freedom from that particular obligation.

Some day we’ll be small-town folk with big-town love.


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