Boots, cigarettes and coffee; here for the good music, a good man that wants me and a good single malt .
Not in that order.
I'm young but old enough to know better; I'm artistic and romantic, struggling and staggering to keep up with the speed of my own dreams. Sometimes I'm impatient and crass, sometimes I'm the girl in boots and blue-jeans and rose-tinted glasses.
Mostly, I'm just trying to get shit done.
Struggletown; def: A place for a hardened tender-heart.
There’s something about doing 175 with the windows down, a cigarette on my lips and a smile. Handsome man, good music, good times ahead.
Midnight drives and night skies make me come alive.
I’m packing up my house and putting stuff in bags and Mum tells me to sort out the dozen or so teddies I have from when I was a kid and I planned to only take like, three with me…
I’m taking at least half. Because I can remember their names, where they’re from and where they’ve been and how upset they would be if they didn’t come too.
I just want to eventually live in a nice house on a nice block of land with a nice man and eventually marry that nice man and play guitar on a Sunday morning and ride my horses and occasionally go to nice places we’ve never been to and have two nice kids and take pictures of nice people and make money from it.
That would be nice, alright?
I met a poet double-timing as a bartender on Monday night.
He gave me a free pint and a smile and joined me for a smoke and a laugh; I wrote my number on a cardboard coaster.
He met me in the parking lot of the down-at-heel hotel where I was staying, and he sat there in the ungodly and tired hours of the morning with me, sinking cold beer; he laughed at my jokes and we smoked more, and even now, I don’t know which one I needed most.
Talk fell out of us. Easy.
Like putting on a comfortable tshirt.
He kissed me under an old palm tree that’s probably seen better days and hundreds of others do the same, in a manner and a way that felt like he tried to breathe me in, all beery and cigarette-smoky.
He held my face.
He dwarfed me completely, and his hands felt lovely.
I made chewy peanut butter and choc-chip cookies…
In a convection roaster because my landlord won’t fix my oven.
I have all of the skills.