I want to explain to you all the places I have overlooked
And the way my lungs hurt from the pressure of the listless air

(I have fit this story into the sockets of the walls surrounding 5th street
So the approaching passerby can get a taste of what we had once been)

I want to throw you amidst the sorrow and miscalculations
So I can hold you there

And know

(and know)
You guessed my middle name on the first try

Robert dear, my mother is planning my wedding
But all I see is me running with you

I don’t know if you’re eyes are brown or blue
But that won’t change the way I’ll look at you

I have the series of our letters stacked gently in my binder
This way, I can show you where we began

The instant ridicule hurts the most
“You’re in contact with Robert? When is he going to turn himself in?”

Soon.
So we can churn butter and make bread.

Soon.
So we can close the gap between San Diego and here.