"it was so easy to fall in love with you, it felt almost like a home of sorts or something." -josh ritter.

he rode the horses, he had the drawl, but he was still too short. my heart almost hurt for him. everything was okay though, because he met a little lady, and they got married. they moved on, onto their own mountain and cowboy children (and later, cowboy grandchildren). in the winter they were stuck at home because of snow, but in the summer coyotes would sing them to sleep. the sky woke them up every morning with it's reds and yellows. the patchwork quilt was neatly replaced; the coffee was black and fresh, at 5 am everyday. his boots were left outside so she wouldn't have to sweep up piles of dirt. he replaced them at 6 each morning but wasn't ever able to take them off until right after sundown. it was a rich, quiet sort of life.

she, on the other hand, lived in the city. the freeway was congested; the air was polluted and grey. she longed for black nights and bright stars, and maybe even that prairie grass. the city was beautiful, but the buildings didn't hold up compared to the mountains. people in the city wanted more of everything: more money, more sex, even more fat. she longed to meet just one person that was content. each passing train was an opportunity not taken. each day was another day of dirtier lungs and the desire to be somewhere else. maybe the country, where the people were few and far between, or maybe somewhere foreign. she was something of a daydreamer, but she never acted on her dreams because a small part of her was just comfortable enough. i wanted to tell her to act on an impulse, just this once, but the words just never came out.