Never habituate. That's what I'm living by. To never reside within one place and feel as if it were home. Because it doesn't feel like home. Not yet. For there is so much beauty I have to see, to explore, to smell, to feel, to soak in. Can you forgive me?
I'll call you from a telephone box. I don't know where yet. But through the hazy night, when my drunken legs and mind carry my self, my numb body, I'll call you when I get there. Because somehow, I'll be safe in the night. I'll call you from a telephone box.
And when I come back, I'll sit next to the flimsy paper that recorded it all. I'll be to scared, too shy to look. I'd like to think that maybe I was wrong. But I know I'm not. Nor are you. It was the thought of you that brought me here. If only for a while.
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