My love for you can trace the seasons. You are my two am on a summer night; leaving caution to the wind and boning in the wooden Moose Lake play place, while cops flash us down. Our love is similar to the long days with the rumbles of thunderstorms; hot and sticky weather, with much needed showers to cool us down. We might have occasional tornados, but we are as strong as the gale winds that blow.

While I am with you the pain is gone. The longing in my heart is gone. I need not search anymore. I find peace in your embrace. While you are near I feel like I am home.

Pursuit of Happiness
Florida Kilos
Cocaine Blues
Stay High
Paper Planes
SOB
Brain Stew
Drug Ballard
We Can't Stop
Chet Faker Gold
SOB
23's

That white picket fence is posted up in my back yard. The thing is built of that sturdy pine; sanded, and stained. It doesn't have a gateway to the front door. I can't say that the fence in the back has ever been quite picketed, cute and quaint, or ever American.
What was it that "All American Dream" spoke of? Was it suppose to keep those in, or out? I would imagine this fence stark white in my dreams being up to hip level, in a suburban nature, soccer mom natives on the way to the big game waving hello. The bread makers waving tally ho as they strive along in their Dodge Chargers, fighting that midlife crisis on to cruising that nine-to-five. I imagine the straggling domesticated remains gathering the mail in robes, not giving much care to tie a knot upon skivvies showing.
A fence of that such nature would definitely seem quite inviting, almost craving the attention of some dramatic red roses. A fence like that would not keep any neighbors out, so why make such white picket fence?
My picket fence lay right outside. It has a couple knots in it's sturdy wood, and while it now is rooted, it's longing to be back with the woods makes certain posts lean in random directions. While my neighbors laid with the norm, I had deep the wild in my lawn. Half looked upon my fence with disgust, unsure of the attraction to such chaotic disorder. The other half of neighbors were envious of the foreignness that the fence brung; the front yard wreaked of adventure, and small day trips. My fence loved me as much as I loved it, cork and all.
My house didn't stand as groomed as the other homes on the pristine block. In fact my home would be better placed among the branches of maple in some remote setting. However, stuck was I and the house... we were stuck being imperfect in a perfect place. My face was too long to be ideal, my nose-bridge was a tad too small, while my nose itself was too wide for the spread of my lips. I embraced eight out of ten on the looks scale. I embraced my girl next door status. If

I am so loved


I'm on the pursuit of that all white picket fence. It's it my back yard, already posted in cement.




    Do you know that I love you for who you are? Do you understand that I am not trying to change you? I am just trying to embrace you to be better. Isn't that what a strong woman does by her man's side? Help him be all that he can? I am trying to teach you to stand, while I have never really stood.
    Maybe that is why I need you to succeed so much. I need someone to take care of me. I need that someone to be you. I need you to be my rock. I need you to be my all. I need you to pick me up when I start to stray. I need you to be there when my whole world tumbles... And upon my parents death, I will die inside as well.
    I am so close to them, that a piece of me will die with them. I will be cold. I might act already dead and too far gone. I need you to be strong for me. I need you to be what they are now, and were. I need you to be more!
    If I am asking too much of you right now to help better you, yourself, for your own reasons, what will you think of me when I ask you to help me with my own? Will it finally be that last straw? Will you crack when I need you the most?
    Will I have drove you to insanity trying to always be better already? It is a disease that I have, maybe a disease I should have alone. A disease that always strives me to be better, a disease that always believes the grass is greener just over yonder. Just over yonder. The grass is the same everywhere wondered, believe me. It is not the greener pastures that gives you such a pleasant feeling, it is the people to which you share it with.
    You already make me feel at ease, at home wherever I may go. Will you promise to do so for always? Will you vow to be there no matter grass be green or brown? Will you promise to be my rock upon such greener pastures? For I am selfish and I need whole-is-i-ty. I am selfish, and I will always need more. I will always need you. Do you accept to always try be all that you can, for me and for you? Do you accept that this is my wicked nature? Will you love me anyways? Will you help carry my burden?