this is a love letter.

there are these tiny moments that exist on their own when i feel like i'm part of something much bigger than myself and much more important that i can comprehend. the only thing i'll miss when i move out of this town are the bands sleeping on my floor, the sense of what's right that the ten people left here will die for, these little inspiring moments that make me feel like someone else.

every disaster possible kept the modernmachines from new brunswick, but they showed up anyway and played to the only ten people who waited hours to see them. fid helped us sneak the underage guitarist into the bar, because their van broke down and they couldn't find a ride, they stayed three days with us in this house, had jam sessions on the porch with two guitars, a snare and an accordian. dan and i held hands the entire time, snuck into a hotel pool to swim in our underwear, ate real pizza in the park, still soaking wet from getting chased out of the hotel, and came home to hold hands and listen to every ergs song three times in a row. the bent outta shape boys came to pick them up this morning and even that was surreal.

the most heartbreaking thing is that if it even happened again, it would never ever be the same.