Postcards from Vancouver

She sends me postcards from Vancouver
With no return address
On the fifth of every month
In memory of when we met
She said she's been waking early
Writing poetry at damn
Sittin' barefoot on the beach
Listening to Sufjan Stevens songs

She says the pictures on the postcards
Don't do justice to the scene
But I have no way of knowing
Exactly what she means

She was a camera, I was somewhere-in-between
She saw picturesque and I had tunnel vision
Now in the dark room, she is waiting for the fix
While I go undeveloped

She says big crowds keep her company
Every artist that she meets
Has a nervous sort of comfort
That reminds her of me
And I wonder if these postcards mean
She's having second thoughts
Or if she's just comparing what she has
To what we've lost

I'm a collector's item vinyl on a shelf
Only needed when she needs a new persuasion
College was so long, now it's so so long ago
I miss our mis-direction

If I were a camera I'd shoot postcard-worthy scenes
And send them out to no one