I'm Gonna Fuck Your Shit Up, East Coast

There erupts a strange nostalgia in me when winter arrives at my parents' house. And then my mind wanders. And then my fingers dance. And then suddenly there's a profound love somewhere in the depths of me. It's not a love that you write home about, as it's not about anyone, but there's such a sensation of appreciation for the little nuances of the even tinier things. Cold weather here makes me think of colder weather elsewhere (oh, I'll always remember how my nose stung so wonderfully when I visited Chicago in late November).

And then, when I bundle up, I recall when I first wanted everything. I was 16. There came a knocking sound of jazz and a clammering for women that all seemed like a crowded ballroom. So many pretty dresses, so many wrinkled suits. I became a bastard that year, I assume. But, now, as in every winter hint, my head begins to match the conversation and I want the dive bars in Europe, the welcome home magic of the South and the renegade and seductive pull of New York City. In fact, I've always wanted that city by its lovely throat (especially when I became a bastard screwball romantic prizefighter). It only worsened years ago when I was collecting love letters from a girl at NYU. But, now, after great talk of seeing a skyline that I have only known in fiction and dreams, I want to spend my money on going the right amount of east. I want to finally read the poetry I started writing as a teenager (at least for just a week). And I find myself wanting to fondle the Atlantic. I want to press up against its beaches like the backseat of a car when with a girl you can't get out of your head or your hands.

I want the Eastern Seaboard running through my fingers like a lover's hair when you can't figure out if they're sleeping next to you in bed or you're dreaming oud loud while sweating out the drums of your heart in a frantic storm of laughter that is a very honest first impression (figuring out the only math that you ever want to know).

Look, I just want you to know that I'm reckless and I'm coming for you, East Coast.