: cher vous et vous et vous et vous

for all the strangers that I know

Can we start over? I haven't talked to you in a while, and it makes me sad. Today, I thought about you nostagically. Something about the fog that huddled over 2nd street, and Broadway, and PCH that made me think of you. When did we become so tired, and disillusioned? When was it exactly did we find ourselves waist-deep in this void of motivation, the black hole in which we find ourselves desperately trying to crawl out of? If we start over, can we forget about all of that? And can we dress in warm, neutral fabrics and drink hot chocolate--can we smoke in the rain together and feel the comfort of opposite temperatures--the heat from my cigarette, and the cold from the rain? Can we watch the cars go by feeling so confident, much like what it feels to be young, to be artfully in control? Steady hands, lingering smoke. How about we start over, and I'll invite you out to the movies on weekday nights, when we're both already ruminating on what's lost, what will happen next. We can go for coffee, and we can tell all of our new friends to meet us, maybe even some of our old ones, and we can plan something exciting for some time soon, not something too far out in the future, where are hearts get ahead of us, where we find so much of our hopes go only to disappear. No, we'll plan for a simple rendezvous this week, or next, one that includes all of us and the fire then will be some kind of magnet which brings us all together, which keeps us all warm. I'm ready to start over, to start over without looking back, and to take you with me on an adventure, one that feels familiar, but much more sincere. If you want to, we can start over, and it won't be like the first time; it will be better.