I've had a few beers tonight, and I'm not exactly ready to make an honest attempt at this whole blogging thing. I'm so behind the curve on every internet trend. Besides memes, bitches love memes.
Anywho, since I find myself unable to conjure up anything appropriate or meaningful at the moment, I'll dive into my hard drive and find something old but still relevant to share with the world on this, the deflowering of my blogging virginity.
If I could I would paint you in bold metallics
Against a cloudy night sky.
I would write you poetry on Post-It notes until your whole life was bright yellow and sticky and I would write more on dandelions and blow them all your way.
It’s always been bad timing
And distance and space and longing and questions/hints/reachingout/pullingback/waitingwaiting, wait..
Nothing that could ever come of anything.
If I could I would stand up on my soapbox and clumsily spill out all the things I’ve ever wanted to say. And I’m sure it wouldn’t be eloquent like I imagined and the strangers passing by would probably stare in confusion because I talk much too fast with my Southern accent and no one can understand what I’m saying.
If I could, I would say it slow.
But I can’t and I don’t know why.
