memories
memories tonight but this time good ones. And out of nowhere I remembered this time that I was in a car after building a house. And the boy in the car was acting like a boy for the first time, and he was doing that because he needed to talk but didn't know what to say. And then I said something and he said something and it went on like that and the conversation was exactly what we needed to say.
and it strikes me that that's pretty much what the big whoop-de-doo is. I mean, that's what we do while we exist. We are with people, and sometimes we are with them at the right time, and sometimes that right time is as long as a conversation and sometimes that time is as long as your first love or as long as it takes to sober up. And sometimes it's a second and it's just you with yourself at the right time (and maybe a cigarette to share it with).
Why can't I figure that out more often? Why can't I be happy with just being. But I think Thoreau was full of shit sometimes, because if you don't clinge to those moments when existing seemed right, and everything came together, then why keep existing? And how do you know that it's all worth it? And what's around to make you smile?
and...what's the point of anything if you can't attach more to it...I wouldn't smile at songs or faces or pictures or books if they didn't bring more than just the contained words or images to mind. I probably wouldn't keep them around for long, and I definately wouldn't love them.
I wonder if you need to keep things around for them to affirm your existance or if it's just random encounters with random people that may be good or may be great. I don't want to think about that now. I'd rather be in love.
and it strikes me that that's pretty much what the big whoop-de-doo is. I mean, that's what we do while we exist. We are with people, and sometimes we are with them at the right time, and sometimes that right time is as long as a conversation and sometimes that time is as long as your first love or as long as it takes to sober up. And sometimes it's a second and it's just you with yourself at the right time (and maybe a cigarette to share it with).
Why can't I figure that out more often? Why can't I be happy with just being. But I think Thoreau was full of shit sometimes, because if you don't clinge to those moments when existing seemed right, and everything came together, then why keep existing? And how do you know that it's all worth it? And what's around to make you smile?
and...what's the point of anything if you can't attach more to it...I wouldn't smile at songs or faces or pictures or books if they didn't bring more than just the contained words or images to mind. I probably wouldn't keep them around for long, and I definately wouldn't love them.
I wonder if you need to keep things around for them to affirm your existance or if it's just random encounters with random people that may be good or may be great. I don't want to think about that now. I'd rather be in love.