Words painted in fake silver.

Words painted in fake silver.

Well there's another promise broken. I'll cross that one off my list. You were on the top of it, actually. Maybe I never told you that but I don't think you ever asked. Maybe it's my turn to keep the light on for you. My mouth is in the shape of the last thing you traced along my spine in ink. Ha. Then there's that mural you never finished either. It's all unfinished business with us. Take care of yourself. Sooner or later we'll rewind the tape and put it back in the deck. I remember the song. You can sing me the words.

You're right though; L.A. has nothing on New York’s graffiti walls and ripped jeans. I do what I can with it while I'm here, though. I walk down the same streets because I know he might be out for a smoke. Maybe his nicotine intake has changed. Maybe mine has. The same need is still there though. It's all so basic when you take the players off the stage and read through the scripts again. I bet he still has a copy. It's a script we've been reading since we met. We're lacking direction, though. Someone do me a favor and point me the right way.

I spent another fifty dollars on vinyl. I mailed you one today, and I wrote on it with one of those metallic markers I told you I used to buy at the store down my block. Words painted in fake silver. Maybe you'll keep it for its aesthetic value.