me upon my pony on my boat

I am writing a blog entry in a coffee shop. I am wearing cowboy boots and I am a hipster nightmare. Sorry everybody.

Here is a secret thing about me:

I really like to read the Missed Connections section in the paper. I intensely want to see myself described as a missed connection. This is why I hang out in idiot coffee shops. This is why I make eye contact with strangers on the bus. I want someone to fall in love with me so hard that they are compelled to write to the Independent Weekly about it. That’s it.

Stranger love is the very best kind.

I feel like writing about this sort of thing right now, so I’m just going to go with it.

I like the little rituals involved when you meet someone new. I like waking up in the morning to find that when he sleeps you can nearly see in his calm face what he looked like as a kid. When he takes a deep breath there is a ripple on the surface and for a second you can picture him much, much older. I like the careful inventory of scars and tattoos, mapping out freckle constellations, reading skin. I like that in the beginning you can imagine anything, anything at all, and it’ll be all right, it’ll be all right no matter what happens.

It always surprises me when I discover that I am perfectly happy exactly where I am.