the way to my heart is through your words.
the way to your world lay by my lips.
let's go make out at the bookstore
when nobody's around.
i'll be nora, you, joyce.
i'll let you break my heart one more time.

love comes in all shapes and forms, different mediums, and various isms.
don't drowse; love says hi to us everyday.
here he comes, beating pain against your windowsill.
oh hello you, how do you do?

love,
me
I’ve always thought love was like coffee. You grind the beans and throw it in with water. 2 key ingredients you cannot go without, and neither of them shall go over certain measurement. The volume, the feeling, the effort- they all have to be equal. I mean you really don’t want to waste your time when you know the outcome is going to be lousy before you even push that START button. Then you brew the 2 together, hoping for perfection. The unbeatable aroma fills the air and knocks you out. Drop by drop, the addiction fills up the carafe. All the excess baggage, the redundant negativity, is collected by the filter as you blend into one another. When you take that first sip in your favorite mug, the warmth fills up every square inch of your body. The bitter reality awakens you. The satisfaction is impeccable. As you take your last sip, your body craves for more. There you lay next to your lover watching him dream about airplanes and new guitars with a cup of coffee in your hand. Pure addiction. Flawless gratification. That’s when you realize mornings aren’t as horrid as you thought, and you are in fact pleased that the sun is shining through. —me (2004-04-01)

I’ve always thought love was like coffee.

You grind the beans and throw it in with water. 2 key ingredients you cannot go without, and neither of them shall go over certain measurement. The volume, the feeling, the effort- they all have to be equal. I mean you really don’t want to waste your time when you know the outcome is going to be lousy before you even push that START button.

Then you brew the 2 together, hoping for perfection. The unbeatable aroma fills the air and knocks you out. Drop by drop, the addiction fills up the carafe. All the excess baggage, the redundant negativity, is collected by the filter as you blend into one another.

When you take that first sip in your favorite mug, the warmth fills up every square inch of your body. The bitter reality awakens you. The satisfaction is impeccable. As you take your last sip, your body craves for more.

There you lay next to your lover watching him dream about airplanes and new guitars with a cup of coffee in your hand. Pure addiction. Flawless gratification. That’s when you realize mornings aren’t as horrid as you thought, and you are in fact pleased that the sun is shining through.

—me (2004-04-01)