every day i wake up, i just think how awesome my life is and that this is the best day ever.

growing disappointed that it can never be exactly as it was. just playing it cool. playing it like a real cool hand. with no direction, no symmetry, no sense of familiarity in a world that's constantly pushing us forward. you've already lost who you've wanted to be a hundred times over. those moments weren't even poetry or song, they were just mumbled abstract thoughts that look ugly on paper or anywhere but your head. and the only thing that can keep them there is a night alone sitting on the floor in the dark with headphones on as the record revolves with eyes closed.