After my life burned to hell in 2011, I nearly moved to Lexington, Virginia to live above a god damn book store or something. My cousin lived there at the time. My plan was to get some piece of shit studio with a wood stove and haunt the town at night with that poor son of a bitch. I don’t regret moving to Austin one bit, but I think about Lexington sometimes, and what it would have been like.
My grandfather is buried there in the same cemetery as Stonewall Jackson (whose grave is covered in lemons, I always remember).
I don’t know. I miss Virginia. I was just there. Maybe I can’t help but be a Virginian.
I miss my father too. I told him last night that if I could, I would build a cabin on his property and live there forever. When I woke up this morning he had written back saying, “If you build it, you can.” He said he loved me too.