I Wanna Be Your Canary.

You're the embodiment of all my ethics and virtues and ambitions.
I am ever-pleased to hear about classes and progress, and nostalgia, and goals.
Goals - you have goals. I love that.

I shouldn't be so on-edge speaking with you, but I tread on glass thinking that any lone slip could compromise something; I still regret telling the barking dogs to stow it, because it may have seemed insensitive.

I don't adore the Canary, I adore "The person who has a place they're willing to strive to be at".

I wish I could articulate myself, and speak with the same avidity I write, but I knot my tongue the moment I hop on the phone - there's a silly list of things that I've written to talk about:

Tempura
Citizen Kane
Pumpkin Flan
The Courthouse
Reservoir Dogs
Atlas Shrugged
Murasa Joke.

Most of them are scribbled-out, and the moment I hear, "I'm feeling rather nostalgic", I wind up tossing the list out the window and inadvertently lending myself to fond memories of climbing England Rooftops to stare at the sky with my childhood friend.

I relish Reunion backwards.
Sometimes, the fact that I'm kind of boarded-up here for a few months longer gets to me, and I wind up listening to Pyroxene of the Heart - it gets me through as many days as Walk the Dinosaur, which is second only to Coffee and You in that business.

You're getting a Heat Pad.

I Wanna Be Your Canary, Chief.
What do you say?