Today, it is snowing in my little Cleveland neighborhood. As much as I love my home, I'm getting tired of its moods. Thursday, it was in the 70s and I walked around in a tshirt and today its so cold, I don't want to walk to my mailbox. The snow is actually sticking now, which makes it more real. If it just discinegrated into the rain, it was like it wasn't REALLY snowing. I had a dream last night about San Francisco. All my dreams seem to revolve around San Francisco lately and I think "why does it have to be a dream?"
We always talk about moving.
Life's too short to live in Ohio
and maybe if the sun shined more,
our lives would be better.
It seems like the only roots we have here
belong to trees with no leaves
and whats a life without green?
If we had a house with more windows
it would make us into artists
and if our street was called "Haight"
there would be more love.
We always talk about moving
because Ohio is full of so many lines.
Big, bold, black lines
that catch people like flies
so they think "this is it."
When really, this is always it.
Our daughters would be princesses of the coast
and everything would always be growing.
We'd always have fresh air, fresh ideas and fresh tomatoes.
Even in January.
Maybe our lives would be fuller
if our neighbors knew what peyote was
and what God looked like
and how to get to the Golden Gate bridge at 5pm.
Because I'm as bipolar as a Cleveland spring
that cries with snow in April
and smiles with 75 on New Years.
So that there is no meaning in anything but change.
If our forecast was always orange
and we thought about the tide,
maybe there would be more hope.
But this gray dissolves everything around it
until all you have are memories of a sun with your life
We always talk about moving.
Life's too short to live in Ohio
and maybe if the sun shined more,
our lives would be better.
It seems like the only roots we have here
belong to trees with no leaves
and whats a life without green?
If we had a house with more windows
it would make us into artists
and if our street was called "Haight"
there would be more love.
We always talk about moving
because Ohio is full of so many lines.
Big, bold, black lines
that catch people like flies
so they think "this is it."
When really, this is always it.
Our daughters would be princesses of the coast
and everything would always be growing.
We'd always have fresh air, fresh ideas and fresh tomatoes.
Even in January.
Maybe our lives would be fuller
if our neighbors knew what peyote was
and what God looked like
and how to get to the Golden Gate bridge at 5pm.
Because I'm as bipolar as a Cleveland spring
that cries with snow in April
and smiles with 75 on New Years.
So that there is no meaning in anything but change.
If our forecast was always orange
and we thought about the tide,
maybe there would be more hope.
But this gray dissolves everything around it
until all you have are memories of a sun with your life
We always talk about moving.
We always say that, but we never leave
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