Passive

passive, feet stuck in the mud/sand.

true story: last week at this time, i sat at the end of a driveway in south carolina with my best friend. the kind of best friend that not everyone has, the kind of best friend that everyone wants, the kind of best friend that loves you and tells you you're a good person no matter how many one-night stands you pretend you didn't have, no matter how many married men you've kissed, no matter anything. that kind of best friend. this is all arbitrary, but she's my best friend.

cheap bottles of wine, i saw a shooting star. we talked louder than the alcohol warranted just to see if he'd come out of his house. we thought about flipping the four-wheeler earlier that day: she says i'm not good at playing the damsel in distress. i say: i'm living it.
maybe he'll come out, maybe we'll get high in the woods, maybe we'll have some fun, the atlantic isn't enough and we need some more secrets. hey man, we're here, we're vulnerable.

then i tell this guy over coffee that i have a problem or two, and he changes my life. it's not the action or event, it's your opinion of it. love's not real, only the way you see it. change your opinion, change everything.

all at once, we're in complete control.

mahmoud and i played this game once: as a final goodbye, let's tell each other how we really feel.
what i said wasn't important, because nothing ever is.
his: "you are too passive, you're all talk. you won't amount to anything."

while 85% of that may be true,
i must say that the sand feels really good between my toes.