dearest piece of paper ...
it's been a while since i played that tape. i regularly find myself turning it over in my hands, reading the song titles you scrawled out on a post-it, analysing what's left of your handwriting after twenty-odd years in a junk drawer. still, it seems a bit of a nuisance to actually insert the damn thing into the player.
on the other hand, you said love is full of inconveniences. (and you always called me a nuisance). so, if this nuisance hasn't got the stamina to kickstart a hand-sized piece of plastic, maybe he hardly cares at all? are compact cassettes plastic? they might be magnetic.
i'm not a scientist but i think that makes them metal. whatever, getting off track. haha, track. like audio track. oh my god peter get to to the point. i don't think i remember the day you died.
i wish i did. all i remember is that the funeral home smelled like hot rain and copper - petrichor. the funeral home reeked of petrichor and it made my nostrils all tingly. that's very selfish of me, to think of myself while you're, like, being embalmed in the back room. i don't think i know how funeral homes work either. in space we just blast em out the door, let their corpse float around for a bit, let them get consumed by a black hole or something. i'm up here and you're still on earth which also seems a bit selfish. that's a streak i gotta break at some point.
dunno why i'm writing this anymore. 'guess i'm just scratching an old itch for the fun of it. might go kick dad's teeth in later. feel free to stop me if you think that's a bad idea. love ya
p.s gonna ask rocket to commandeer an ipod. we're on digital now.