trying to figure all of this shit out

Love is not caring about morning breath.
Love is giving you my mittens because your hands are colder.
Love is "did you make it home safe?"
Love is staying home from parties
and kissing in parking lots.
Love is responding to a text with a phone call.
Love is silence.
Love is how your hand fits on my waist.
Love is San Francisco and Russia and South America and North America, too.
Love is for 6 year olds and 18 year olds and 90 year olds.
Love is

Track 1

you looked out the window in my room
you said look at that moon
i thought "look at that face"
you rode 800 miles per hour
300 thousand horse power
700 long days

it was 3 am sitting in your car
under those bright northwestern kind of stars
your heart skipped a beat
when the shadow of the trees
danced against the windows
to the beat of you and me

the boy next door

i'm writing this because i'm home alone and i have too many thoughts and no one to share them with

i just traveled the world for a month
and the day before i left
he told me he would miss me
he said he would miss me "so much"
and it wasn't because i would be gone for a month
but because after that
he'd leave for two years
he said we still had camping trips to go on
and mountains to climb
and i couldn't help but wonder why he waited to long


after we kissed the second time
i told him i've been wanting to kiss him for a while
he asked how long
i said "years"
i didn't tell him it was 6
but that precious side smile on his tired face told me that "years"
was long enough to make his heart beat a little bit faster


i'll try not to be too sentimental
there's a lot of things we never got the chance to say
or hear
but for now i'll keep in touch with your sister, your brothers, and maybe even you
and when you get home maybe i'll tell you everything i never have
and that i can't stop listening to that bright eyes album you showed me