treehouse album

• our trauma becomes washed out, more abstract than sought out and I know I don't have anything worked out. I'm going to call the people I miss say I can't wait to kiss you, chain smoke on my front step, then lay my head on your chest.
• after all the phone calls, all the letters I wrote you, trying to figure out the words to tell you much I love you; and I know it's hard for you to feel like you deserve to feel good.
• I'm never going to forget all the reasons why I'm not dead yet; and all the cats in my neighborhood, and all the times you asked for help and I couldn't give it.
• We don't talk anymore, My throat's an ashtray for your worries. Ask me "a boy or a girl?" There are things that make you nervous.