three may
two : forty-six p.m.

i found you. you look so different, but i can see the old you in the words you've written:

"i feel everything a lot. i think my heart is bigger than my hand as a fist. sometimes the world becomes too much for me to understand. i dont want to move a muscle...everyone is blushing, of course, as it should be... lately i'm missing home; the countryside. there you can drive while drinking going nowhere, headed down some of the most beautifully shaded backroads. a case of beer in the back of the truck stays perfectly cold despite the suns attempt to ruin the day. the river races you, west virginia."

you wouldn't remember who i was if i sent you a message. when was the last time you thought of me?