5.23

Lora, this one's for you.

It's five hours and twenty three minutes before that commercial airliner swoops down and takes you to the city of angels, where you should feel right at home. There are people who have made careers off of singing only about the one in millions that they have such strong feelings for. But for me to have any feelings was a million to one. I swore never to touch the ink of a vulnerable heart because I thought for sure I would waste it. Then you came and taught me calligraphy, simple words in elegant scripts that blew the meaningless meaning sky high, much like any commercial we've seen. And you made sure I didn't waste a single word, because time was precious.

Now my time is temporarily up, as you coast quickly to the land of cities plagued by different colors, all bleeding red for their sins, and marketing so obvious that people are paying to get the logo of their favorite brand tattoed on their ass. You must be like a glimmer of starlight in a sea of translucent light bulbs. I'm left here with a pen and my memories, searching desperately for ways to rephrase those three cliched words. I'd rather waste time with you, chasing cars around our heads, than virtually on my own, saying what I know will eventually not be enough. Just, please, remember that no matter what mountains, rivers, subdivisions, construction sites or long distance roaming charges lie between us, these things will never change for us at all. And that until I find the right words, I think I'll just stick with "I love you."