this is a love letter.

ix packs of sparks around a campfire in our bathing suits. all these towns have the same one room apartments, the same too big backyards, the same twenty kids crowded around laughing and singing along. the more people i meet from around the country the more dissatisfied i am with moving and with staying here. i considered more strongly than i ever have moving to madison because there's no reason i shouldn't make myself be happy with danny, but there's an equal reason to not walk into someone else's life because i'm lonely in mine. wisconsin probably isn't even as far enough as i need to go right now anyway. maybe brooklyn will be. i don't even know if it would be making myself be happy; anything is better than how i feel right now. i realized on this trip, after hannah and i had been abandoned to our own devices, after we had taken pictures of ourselves pinky swearing with lew and nate that we would go swimming in the river, after we found ourselves singing along to the ergs and as loud as our voices could possibly be while petting every stray cat in the neighborhood, that we're all drawn together because no one has anything left to lose anymore. i travel so much now, more and more each year. i have two solid months planned and fiscally accounted for in the year coming, probably more that will spring on its own, and it won't be enough. i alternately want more than anything to stay in one place for more than a year, but only because i want something to keep me in a place for more than a year. it doesn't make sense to think i'll find that anywhere, let alone somewhere else, but maybe.

i don't even sleep anymore.

it's late. a day ago, i was driving the second overnight through nashville, tennessee. the air was wet and thick, the coffee i drank was thick but didn't feel wet. no one gave me a black eye, but my heart aches now more than it has in forever.

i'm really disappointed that not very many people got in touch with me while i was away, but only because it doesn't reflect well on the future, when i'll live a greater distance for a greater time. it's selfish to want to be thought of, anyway. i'm equally disappointed when people i like are friends with people who are terrible, but that's something else.


how terrible is it to start so many sentences with i? i'll do this instead: jess, did you still want to start that zine? i still do.