For some reason I remember us talking on MSN messenger, or talking to someone that said you have a lot of pillows in your bed.
Now, chronically single, my bed is like that, and I wonder if that’s the only thing we share in common.
Of course, you told me you’re “not the same person” but somehow I seem to suffer so greatly from living in nostalgia.
I’ve changed too, in ways, but most notably I suppose I’ve become more ambitious, but if I think on it it feels like I’ve always been ambitious.
I wonder if we could talk now, what would we say. Would you even listen to music with English lyrics? Or would you force yourself to only consume all things Norwegian? Have you adopted a nationalist identity? After telling me nationalism is a disease?
God knows where I’ve gone and come from being a true blue blooded American, but I suppose it doesn’t matter what country you stake your allegiance too if all of us are going to enter these forever wars.
This isn’t a love letter. I just slam my body into the cushions on my mattress and I think of you, once in a while.
Well here comes the fuzzy-wuzzy, lovey-dovey words about holding you and golden light and all that broken record boomerang nonsense I always tell you.
I really wish we worked out.
I really do.