"I miss those summers, that grill smell, home cooked meals; take me back.
Sleeping like a log and healing so fast. But losing you, I learned to lose my youth, lose my spirit and now I can’t hear it anymore.”
“So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I’ll bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel; you’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling and seen that. If I ask you about women, you’d probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites; you may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. I’d ask you about war, you’d probably throw Shakespeare at me, right? ‘Once more unto the breach dear friends!’ But you’ve never been near one; you’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap and watch him gasp his last breath, looking to you for help. I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes; feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell.”
Damn your family and your friends who still don’t like me