i search for comfort for something that feels like what my life feels like on early morning road trips in the spring. like a terribly nostalgic little girl and i steal people’s voices but can never find my own and i need you to agree with me when i tell you i am good but i think you’ve found a better version of me already so when i see the image of you halfway out the door i make sure you know i never wanted you here anyway but i wanted you i wanted you i want you here sitting with me 7 am at the mom n’ pop diner laughing at me for pouring too much syrup over my waffles. it’s always too much, isn’t it?