Disciples of California

What a lonely and quiet little apartment. I miss so much that is so far away: sitting cross legged in dim light listening to you sing, sometimes singing along, getting dirty and feeling cold, bike rides late at night, screaming across the street, coming back to your house a little drunk but mostly happy as ever, cowboy breakfasts, dampness on the couch outside, muffins in the morning, bus rides to north berkeley, that dim light again, the warmth of your home, meeting everybody I love now for the first time, those few months of new bliss that I thought would never thicken and pale.

But, I'm here now. My apartment is small but I can see getting some new lamps and some floor rugs and having a roomful of people singing to one another. I want Eric and Brandt to come home late at night and sit down next to us, I want the music loud. I want the ferns outside to sway and brush the windows as we are sleeping. How long ago that feels. How old I feel now. I am so, so far away. I want those moments back and I grasped for them as they passed, when they did. Kids in Boston are uptight. They are nothing like you, my sweetest friends. I would give anything back for those days, and that's from the heart. Be here now.