So thin, so lanky, so very, very, thin.
Youve got long fingers, and long and hands, and goodness, am I glad its you that Im here with.
Here in this quiet backyard, with our acoustic guitars.
Our guitars with their broken spines, caving in on themselves, sagging strings, completely fucked intonation.
Theyre works of art, just like the bony shoulders that are jutting so far out of that sleeveless shirt of yours.
I like those sleeveless shirts, Ryan.
Fucking pen isnt working. You mutter. I nod, looking around for another pen that most likely wont work.
Im not one for pet names, but I like that one for you.
I mean, youre not very sweet, and you dont exactly taste pleasant, but I like that one for you, nonetheless.
Its April, not sure what day, Brendons birthday is right around the corner, or maybe we already missed it, or maybe today is his birthday; I dunno.