I would love to own a camp for misfits. I would stay up late like a muse and lead hikes into town for new pencils and vodka. I would learn the guitar and we would sing anthems. We would all build fires from piles of sadness and skinny dip without irony. I would wear a silver whistle on a silky cord around my neck and blow it when things got wild. When we all talked at once. We would have matching wristbands or tattoos or secret handshakes. At night I would tuck everyone into bunk beds with thin striped mattresses and tell you the genesis of my love for you. For all of you.