In the basement we'll collage
Until our hands are full of paper cuts
National geographics
From the 1970's
Every month we'll write a letter
"Yes, hello, dear reader"
Let's haunt the bookstore after hours
We'll drink and dance and ride our bikes in packs
When the seasons change
We'll find ourselves between
Stacks of novels
Making magazines
Now and then I think of you
Existential, ephemeral
Thoughts collect inside my head
Goodbye Boston, goodbye home
But there's not much to leave behind
It's a shame we fell apart
Just like paper cut-outs
Now and then I think of you
But what was I supposed to do?
September
October
November
December, December
When the seasons change
We'll find ourselves between
Stacks of novels
Making magazines
Now and then I think of you
The seasons change so fast
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