roger that, girl

and could it be any other way, on a scrap of paper pulled furiously out of my bag during the last song because my notebook was (gasp) home. and I really was there and sitting like that and I've been wearing my combat boots for a week now since TB had to put his shoes on and I needed something to hold up the fort.

combat boots
stickers on my car
mailing lists
front row
cross-legged on the floor
back stage
waiting for the band
we'll drive for hours
back to where
we are...

and the stickers too, I'll send pictures. now I'm going to start crying. I fucking love you, man. I mean it. (and I'd say more than my parents, but then my dad might zap me with lighting or something.)