i'll be leaving this city pretty soon. too soon or just soon enough i havent yet decided. late tonight the moonlight carved its way into my room as though it was light as day. i was sitting here reading kerouac but not a story, just his journals- him writing about writing. i need an adventure. i need the open road. i need the daily diner and nightly motel life. i need to hear your stories. to hear you. or else this is all worthless. a house filled with things that dont matter.
icantwaittogetalive.
