My friends always warned about living cliches but my friends aren’t there when I meet you these days. I count people and street signs from the back of your car and then skip back excited to wherever they are. I take risks in the storm while they talk by the bar. I won’t go back outside until my memory starts erasing itself into something less brutal; some beautiful bullshit I pretend to belong to. For as long as the truth tucks itself into bed, and the beat of my heart, and the heat of my breath keep my hopeful and distant and proud of myself - I keep ringing your bell every night around twelve.
—
Kevin Devine, excerpt from “Keep Ringing Your Bell”
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