i called them all my best friends

we sit on my bed. the two of us. i'm lying on the quilt and playing with my hair, having thoughts. he's sitting, back against the wall, playing the guitar. fiddles with a melody; repeat, repeat, repeat. i'll scribble on my hand, or on some paper or on his knee. it's generally quiet. he finishes a song. i start a new poem. and this is how we go. and creating excites me, in still moments on my bed. just because we're living. and in fits of hallelujah creation he's writing a lot and will record soon. and sometimes, he kisses my tear that comes from his words and i seriously can't wait for you to hear it. 

and though its not the one that made me cry, you should listen to a demo of "friday"