you took everything somebody had
"Losing hope is easy when your only friend is gone, and everytime you look around it all, it all just seems to change. But hanging on is easy when you've got a friend to call, and nothing's making sense at all, you're not the only one that's afraid of change." -Jack Johnson
Life like a scrolling marquee. Like trying to cinch my life into a smaller piece of... something. I guess it's how I'm so still silent in all of this, and I like it when he doesn't worry that I don't talk, only asks me what it is I'm thinking about. I love that. I love how planetary we all are, orbiting Izzy. Some big circular wanton pattern we've got going, like our only hope for survival is to speed around the curves on the road, to drive recklessly, to push our necks out the widow and face it. Face how broken we pretend not to be. Sometimes I say it like leaning out the window, just searching for a familiar constellation. Something to fall back on. But it's all changing, you know? We're all going to die. We are not infinate. And I've been forgetting this. But more than that, I've been forgetting that I'm alive. Now I'm here, hanging on to this rope we've made, swinging through the night and wondering where I'll drop.
I've spent so many wasted days, so many sad spaces just trying to figure out who I am. Everybody knows we'll die. But there's something so comforting in the dreaming, in the make-believe, in the fiction we've got going. I've spent time telling you that I don't know what or who I am, what I want. And now I think I've got it. Finally. I think I know what I mean. It's about how this doesn't really matter, how we're just the sattelites. How in the end we're just another blip on the screen, an insignifigant blimp chugging through the afternoon, the melting ice in the bottom of the cup. But what all this really means is that we've got this Now to feel incredible, to feel like we were really there. There is no tomorrow. And all that we've done? It does and it doesn't matter. And that's okay. It's okay that we're raw.
That's just how it's supposed to be.
Life like a scrolling marquee. Like trying to cinch my life into a smaller piece of... something. I guess it's how I'm so still silent in all of this, and I like it when he doesn't worry that I don't talk, only asks me what it is I'm thinking about. I love that. I love how planetary we all are, orbiting Izzy. Some big circular wanton pattern we've got going, like our only hope for survival is to speed around the curves on the road, to drive recklessly, to push our necks out the widow and face it. Face how broken we pretend not to be. Sometimes I say it like leaning out the window, just searching for a familiar constellation. Something to fall back on. But it's all changing, you know? We're all going to die. We are not infinate. And I've been forgetting this. But more than that, I've been forgetting that I'm alive. Now I'm here, hanging on to this rope we've made, swinging through the night and wondering where I'll drop.
I've spent so many wasted days, so many sad spaces just trying to figure out who I am. Everybody knows we'll die. But there's something so comforting in the dreaming, in the make-believe, in the fiction we've got going. I've spent time telling you that I don't know what or who I am, what I want. And now I think I've got it. Finally. I think I know what I mean. It's about how this doesn't really matter, how we're just the sattelites. How in the end we're just another blip on the screen, an insignifigant blimp chugging through the afternoon, the melting ice in the bottom of the cup. But what all this really means is that we've got this Now to feel incredible, to feel like we were really there. There is no tomorrow. And all that we've done? It does and it doesn't matter. And that's okay. It's okay that we're raw.
That's just how it's supposed to be.