kenzie

The poet who wrote about love dipped her toes in it took a dive, and came out shivering at how cold the air felt once one had been swimming! So I tried the whole love thing, and haven't written since not because I couldn't do it justice or because I'm afraid to jinx myself I've just been too busy living it.

How are you? I'm alright I guess, now that you ask. Better than alright. I feel a little silly writing to you like this, but since you monopolized so much of my time, thought, and affection for the last few years, I think it only fitting to acknowledge you every once and a while. That's really it. I guess I miss you. Or maybe I just miss the idea of you? I drove down rt 1 in the pouring rain today using just my knees. My hands were occupied [cell phone and cigarette.] I hope you're well.

No I'm not. I'm just silly and I like to pretend. And I like to drive through New Brunswick or Princeton or my neighborhood and bump hip hop. It makes me feel like a badass. Or at least it makes me laugh. I haven't been writing lately. I've wanted to. Badly. I sit in the quiet between songs or between cigarettes driving home from somewhere and a line floats into clarity. And then I forget it. And I also miss a left turn and get lost. This isn't an excuse. It's the truth. Sometimes I'm scared that I'm less creative or less intelligent or that I am in decline. And then someone [or a few important someones] love me and I stop worrying about wh