When I walk in to that old bar in New Orleans some day, I'll love to say-
-Just, the regulars.
There's something about things that are mundanely regular that overpowers the seductive and somewhat intellectual call of Novelty.
Give me things that are usual. Give me things that smell of the old poetry book under the geography text in the summer afternoons. Of John Denver and Scarborough Fair. Of Sunday piano lessons and 'You and I'. Of Norah Jones.
Because I am sick of all things that are surreal and transcending. Don't give me something too divine and rare. I never know what to do with them.
Give me something I can touch. Feel. Something that will break when it falls. So I will be careful when I hold it. Something that needs to be watered to make it grow. Something that dies when taken out of water. Something I can cling to when I'm lonely and down.
And for heaven's sake don't give me things I'm never sure I possess.