It is 18 minutes to 6. I am counting down my minutes here. Sun kissed East Coast skin says goodbye, goodbye. Flat open fields, skies for miles and miles. It never sounds bad when i describe you geographically. Aesthetically, I love you in cotton, i love you in tobacco, I love you sun scorched and burning in the heat of July. Sometimes i even love your friends, in spite of themselves. I don't care what they do at night, I don't care which side of the fence they rest on, as long as a smile rests on me and mine.
You may love me, and i may love you, but your wide open expressions never made me feel at home. I loved you the way i love to eat cake, just a little taste, too much is a waste. Your wide open expressions are dramatic and make me feel i am the center of all things, but when i am drunk with the illusion, you're sending your devils to steal away my happiness.
The truth is that you are no good for me. We could never see eye to eye. You will always be able to sweep me up dramatically, believably, but you'll never capture the best of what i have to give, no, that sort of thing can not be conned out of a lover, a friend or any other.
I am taking my best and leaving you. Please, don't call, don't write. I won't ever be back for you. My love in the city is waiting. I won't make him wait anymore.