Dear You,

In a cash only dive bar in New York City, I scratched the tables with my nails and sipped a PBR. The light was dark and comforting, the air inside was warm, and as I opened my mouth, words fell out as if I had no control over them. It was days after Christmas, I had forgotten what it felt like to be truly accosted by the weather outside. I took quick little sips of beer, and I missed you.