#goodtoogo

I think it's been 6 years since we've last talked. 6 years of words never said and messages sent but never read. You're getting married and I am so happy for you. Writing those words comes easier then admitting them to myself because honestly it stings a little bit. I could write this a thousand different ways but it doesn't really matter because it will never reach you. I could roll it up, shove it in a bottle and toss it in the ocean just for you to never read a word of it. So am I writing this for myself or for you? That's a question I'll never have the answer for. How many years did we go writing to each other without the other one knowing? Sending wishes and hopes out into the universe because we believed if we were under the same sun and moon they would reach us. Drowning under the waves of words we weren't saying. You and I were always almost. Again and again. We were always on the verge of almost. Never nothing but never something. The first person I felt both wildly unsure and unwaveringly certain of. I knew you loved me when I could feel it in the way you listened, in the way you remembered, the "just because" gestures, when you showed me how far you'd go, you sat next to me patiently as I unraveled and rebuilt. You intertwined your life in between my lines. But we weren’t meant to be. However, little by little, day by day, what was meant for you found it's way to you. Whatever this love is between you and you're future bride to be must be something special. As a man who always thought he'd never find forever, find happiness, and hopefully sobriety, you've found someone to spend the rest of your sunsets with. So I hope she can feel love in the way you listen, the way you remember, in the "just because" gestures, how far you will go, sitting patiently. I hope after a bad day you get to see her smile and the color of her eyes in the sunlight. I hope there's warm apple pie and ice cream. I hope you are loved the way you love. You've waited your entire life to find somebody you could sit in silence with, feeling wanted, appreciated and adored and it finally happened. I hope she was worth the wait. Congratulations curly.

Smokin tires and thrown mud in a 92 ford

My little ranger, my first truck, the first taste of freedom I had was a 2.8L 5 speed manual 4x4. My go anywhere sleep in the back of it enjoy every bit of nature it's only limit was how well I could operate the clutch, and once I figured it out I could go anywhere. That rusted square body primer blue truck took me every where. I loved in that truck and masked heart break behind the wheel of that truck. Fell in love all over again in that truck when I sent the side view mirror crashing through the passenger side window. My second blessing that night was that it was open. The faded tired headlights match my eyes today. I try and draw a bit of insperstion from that truck when I can. No matter what I put it through on a regular basis. Learning to drive, learning standard, learning to 4x4 and learning how a carb works. It always screamed to life. Cracking alive with a battle cry I inspire to wake up every day like that. After all it was my first truck, it was the truck that built me.