not sure if this will be a song or a letter. it's been far too long since i wrote you, since i've seen you, been in your arms. why did you chose a place to stay so far out of the way? you changed your name, you've gotten fake. are you okay? and as i write the changes they seem so slight they are barely worth bringing up. so what if we're far apart? i'll get in airplane or a car just to get to you 'cause i miss you so hard. could i see you on the weekends? and make it a point to keep it at arm's length on the days between them? we will make all our impressions, but the dents they will all flatten monday morning. we'll be close and we'll be distant, we will stretch out only to snap back into the same position we were in to begin with. not sure who myself is, or if "he" even exists. but if "he" did i'm certain, I wouldn't want to be "his" friend...or maybe i'd make "his" acquaintance, see "him" on the weekends. and each time it would be different and i'd be fine with it. 'cause i don't care. i'm nobody. i'm nowhere. i'm nothing. i'm a farce. do i have to write a book for you to realize how mutable we all are? could i see me on the weekends? i will plant all my improvements but the flowers will not blossom monday morning. i will grow and i'll be stagnant, i'll get better just to revert back to the same condition i was in to begin with.