We float away on whimsical notions...
We twist and turn through the lies and the truths...
We stretch and yearn for this far away idea of originality...
We claw the windows and the cages that block us from being free...
We cry and we yell and we scream with a hunger deep within us...
If we didn't, what would be life?
Bishop Allen and Flight 180 give me this strange kind of hope. Music gives me hope. It gives me that when I feel like I have nothing.
Today I felt like crying and that feeling never went away. I held onto what little I have: my brain, my heart, my body full of life. But I don't feel full of life. I feel suffocated and hurt and upset. I'm having one of my bad days. They are becoming more frequent now and I don't have the energy to even miss my good, happy, sunshine days.
...but I'm too scared to ask for help.
I thought you would be the one to help me up but I was wrong. So wrong and I laugh at that now. The only one who can help me up is myself. I am very sorry I gave you my hope and expectations. They were too much for you to handle, I guess.
Let's all talk in paradoxes and whisper sweetly into the night air, "The owls are not what they seem." We'll dance in our white dresses and light candles that blow out. Leaves crunch beneath our feet but we aren't scared. We can't be.
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