For Mr. James Bernal...

After reading your lovely comment, I immediately went outside and took a photo of the trees on 3rd ave, to remind you of this place. When you return, I promise you a glass of wine, a cigarette and stories underneath the shade of our trees. 

Sleepy eyes, seaside (mis)adventures, trashy/sassy hotel parties.

Because the comment space isn't enough...

Public forums for private things make me uncomfortable. 

I don't sing in front of everyone and I rarely answer my phone. 

Beyond the exes and rare exceptions, yours is the only hand I hold. 

I am sincere when we sit on my bed and listen to the words I wish I'd written. 

I love them as my own family because they are a part of you. 

Epic things: our first neighborhood (1) moment, the birth of Cagney, $1.50 bottles of wine.

I struggle with expectations and proving myself. I try. Is that enough? 

You know, better than most, what a struggle it is for me to be myself...but I most closely resemble that girl around you. 

I am sorry. 

Vain?

Waldo Sunday.

Goffee and flea-market. David Lynch would be proud. 

Sunday.

I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last past Saturday night 
And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight
I want a Sunday kind of love oh yeah

I want a love that's on the square
Can't seem to find somebody someone to care
And I'm on a lonely road that leads to nowhere 
I need a Sunday kind of love

I do all my Sunday dreaming
And all my Sunday scheming
Every minute, every hour, every day
And I'm hopin' to discover
A certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way
And my arms need someone to enfold 
To help keep me warm 
When Mondays, and Tuesdays grow cold
And I need a love for all my life
To have and to hold
I need a Sunday kind of love

I do all my Sunday dreaming
And all my Sunday scheming
Every minute, every hour, every day
And I'm hopin' to discover
A certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way
And my arms need someone to enfold 
To help keep me warm 
When Mondays, and Tuesdays grow cold
And I need a love for all my life
To have and to hold
I need a Sunday kind of love

I don't want a Monday or a Tuesday
A Wednesday or a Thursday
Friday or Saturday
I don't want nothin' baby
I want a Sunday kind of love

Longs for a neighborhood cafe to stroll to.

Hand-in-hand. 

Red wine, lots of it. Isn't that how it always goes? 

Sitting in a corner table, putting my feet up like I always do. I hope it doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. 

Warm food, hot topics. 

Unembarrassed silence. 

Let's sit for hours and plan, even if those plans never see the sun. 

I would like to close the place down and wander the streets. 

There are other things I would like to say but another time, perhaps...