You Said

It rained today, in the way it does not in summer but in fall. The humidity made my skin soft, but cloying. There's no escape from weather like that. I sat in a corner, let the guitar build calluses of my hands, as it washed over me in swells.

I said I wouldn't be one of those people who speaks of dreams and never lives them, how does age creep up so slowly and strangle you with complacency. There's a hunger in me that will not be sated by quick carbohydrates, by 9-5 and steady paychecks. Fires die down without oxygen, you can suffocate it if it scares you and reduce it to stardust but it turns out that the raging storms are not what should scare you at all. The slow death underneath that lid, the quiet darkness that eviscerates you when you've let your guard down, that's what should keep you up at night.

And maybe the worst part is that it doesn't.