Meet me where you met me.

I physically bit my tongue today and yelled out "FUCK! I'm tired of doing this goddammit!"

Everyone looked at me weird as I spit blood out of my mouth and said "I hope you're fucking happy"

Than I sat on a bench with red stained teeth and lungs full of white smoke and sang Modest Mouse songs about how "you think you've figured out everything, but we know that our hearts are just made out of strings to be pulled" until a skinny girl named jessica, whom I had never met before today, was wearing a charcoal dress and eyelid length bangs and boots that she had written the phrase "We are all stardust" on sat down and started talking shit about a pretty sunset. She turned to me and sang "I know where you're from, but where do you belong" (she knew the song) as she pulled out an oreo cookie and gave me the side with the cream on it. As the wind started kicking up dust on church st and picking up all the goosebumps on the back of our arms, I went and got my sweater from my car and gave her a ride back home to her Bohne Hall dorm. She asked me to email her the songs I had written, and I told her to meet me where you met me, and I would bring her a copy.

When she asked why I simply couldn't email them to her, I responded, "Because there's something kind of adventurous or daring or scary about not having any other way to contact someone besides knowing the black bench that you met the person on, I think i've always just wanted to pull a book out of it's shelf and open a trap door and see where it leads."

I don't really think she understood.