One Love

I wish there were more girls up here. The more I see of human behavior in the 20-something male, the less I want to see. It's just the same dance, every night. The same words, coming out of another vapid and stoned or drunk boy with longer hair and a stubble-y face.

It's the same script, same scene just different actors. Over and over and over. They're all beautiful. They all have the kind of bodies you see in glossy magazines. They all say the same thing.

It's seriously the ones that don't want to fuck me now that have become interesting. I've never been that girl who walked into the bar and felt like she could take home whoever she wanted. It's like that up here though. It gets rather old.

And I'm rather frustrated, because there's this boy. And he's not like all the rest of them, exactly. He's got this beautiful, fucked-up tortured soul. Beautiful eyes. And I like him. And he seems to like me, too. But he didn't call. Maybe he will.

But, all the beautiful people call. They want to go out and party. The want to cook me dinner, to smoke me out, to go do the back country, to go ride the front-side, to go to the bar, to take the snow cat out. And it's hard to say no when you don't call, but you are all I want.

I guess this probably sounds stupid. It's not coming out right at all.

But I just want somebody to love me and at this point there is a line out the door. So if you love me, won't you let me know? 'Cause I like you more than all the rest of them put together.