tell me a never ending bedtime story so that i can stay up all night wishing you were back here with me but then i wake up and you're still gone

two fucking years. that's all i have back here, before i go away, to california
or someplace like that. college, then nothing. what's it like to go away?
i want to say i'll miss home, but i doubt it.
i doubt i'll miss anything about this shit-hole
except the memories i've made here.
like substance-abuse under the bridge, or graffiti-poetry or taco bell or walking into fry's late at night or sitting on the stoner hill with all my friends looking at the baseball fields, because sometimes that's nicer than the sunset.
its a weird feeling, knowing that things change. i don't know if i can take it.
i'm having trouble imagining this place with a different cast of characters;
a new dramatis personae, to discover what its like to pile onto a staircase to nowhere and to read off all the shit under the bridge and to sleep in the park sometimes and tell their parents they're at a friends. i can't believe that one day we're going to be gone, because we've made this ours.
we've spraypainted our memories on everything here, and i don't want that to fade.
but it will, and when it does, i'll hold back tears with laughter and smiles,
and think about what's next, and i won't let go of my stupid friends and i'll promise that i'll never look back, until i do.
and then i'll cry my fucking eyes out.