Naturally the foundation will bear your expenses все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

The farthest I'd ever been from home on my own when I was twenty was Kansas City. And, maybe I regret driving up I-35 to see you last October. Omaha was binding, but Lincoln sounded worse, and I don't blame you for taking off to Minnesota. I hope you don't come back. At least, not yet. Not until I've figured out who I am without you. My list of accomplishments isn't long enough for when I see you again. I wish I had something to show for all this time I spent alone.

I wasn't what you expected, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't live up to my appearances, but it should be obvious by now that everyone is faking it, and how could you expect me to be any different? I've been spending most of my time walking lately, even when the sun's started setting at five. I'm spending more time getting from place to place in hopes that it'll help me feel less depressed, and on days when I can't work up the motivation, the energy to carry my bicycle down the thin white stairs of my one-bedroom apartment, I lay in bed all day and wish that I was dead.

I almost threw up that night. I was driving home on the interstate alone. It was a quarter past four in the morning when I finally turned off to navigate the empty streets of downtown. My breath was fogging up the windshield as I waited for the stoplight to turn. I felt sick. I felt empty. You know the way it's been ever since I was eleven: when I get nervous, I just shake uncontrollably. The only thought I had when turning off on O Street was getting home to drown myself in blankets. I couldn't picture your face as you left me. The pain in your eyes was too much for me to handle. But, when I got there, I couldn't calm down, so I just lay awake.

I saw a car that looked just like yours today in front of the coffee shop where we used to play Scrabble when we were both home from college: a baby-blue Honda, a two-door with headlights that tapered to a point on the edges of the hood. I froze up momentarily as I turned into the parking lot. I was debating shooting straight through, turning around, and driving back home. I haven’t been consciously avoiding you this winter, but when a man in a brown workman’s coat turned a key in the door of the car, I felt so relieved.