Whatever makes her happy, whatever makes it alright
I need to get out of this house if only for a couple of hours, so I'm soon on my way to meet up with S. She's a good friend, she doesn't always understand me but at least she's trying. When she asks me how I am it's not just a greeting phrase. She really wants to know and I love her for it.
The only thing that worries me is that this city is in fact not very different from my house and my home. In both cases, I'm afraid that if I touch something it will break because it's all made of plastic. I'm afraid that if I scratch the surface I'm only going to discover that there's nothing there, that everything is fake and fraud.
Sometimes I just wish I could see it for the first time once again, with innocent eyes and a clear mind.
I think it's our history, L.A., that makes me hate you.