Look at me like you look at your favorite pair of socks.
Just a glance, in passing —
to check that I’m there,
that I am warm,
that I can be yours when you need me.
Don’t call me beautiful.
Call me by the name my mother plucked
just for me, off the island whose trees
fleck my blood with olive and salt.
Let the syllables sing,
a Mediterranean wave cresting, crashing.
Before running a red light,
kiss your fore and middle fingers;
tap the car hood and think of me.
Make me your little superstition,
never a crutch or criticism,
but something brought to life with your breath —
something you believe in.
Love me. Love me simply.
So simply that we’ll forget
the word has to exist
between us at all.
look underneath the house there
find the few living things
rotting fast in their sleep
oh, the dead
twenty-seven people, even more
they were boys
with their cars
oh my god
Feist and Ben Gibbard | Train Song
it’s so many miles and so long since i’ve met you