I don't want a prince Charming to come and sweep me off my feet.
I know exactly what I want: either to spend the evening alone, to spend it with friends and ignore this orgy of commercial love, or to find that guy I have in mind, who I am sure would never step foot in Southern California.
I can't stand cold weather but hey, if freezing is what it takes to find him, I'm fine with that.
We will only go out in spring and summer anyway. I haven't thought beyond those two seasons. Drink the sunshine like a drug, and lie out in the tall grass of Someplace, Somestate, Somecountry. We will talk in some language. About something beautiful. We will bathe in impresision. Perhaps tomorrow we will wake and find each other in our own imagination. He will know, as will I. But we will be artists, together, creating a moment, creating a future on an easel of nothingness. We won't be standinging in line waiting for a movie to open or cuddling in the backseat of a dirty car. Well, we'll see. I'm alright with the back of pick up trucks, but this depends on the warmth of the summernight and just how many crickets happen to be serenading the moon that evening. We will play music and sing. And the melodies will spin into the air and melt into everything natural. I'm still a kid, and we'll be children. We'll set a curfew for forever and plunge into innocence. Rebirth. Isn't that what love means, after all?