I don’t dream anymore.
These days, I don’t dream anymore. Not that I need to, but it would be nice.
I mean it could be nice, if it’s cold enough water could be ice.
‘The water should be nice, this time of year.’ People say that shit all the time, without really knowing. People say a lot of shit without really knowing.
I spend most of my life wanting to really know about things. I fear I’ll never understand the things that really matter. Know too much about the things that don’t. Care too little for the people who are worth it. The ones who deserve it. No one has to earn it, but I know that it’s worth it.
Shades of me that I don’t care if you see. I care who see’s, I’m so conceited I have a real me VIP. “..and I have very important places to be,” yeah? let them wait, I don’t give a fuck if I’m late. I’m writing in a style I hate. I’m staying up way too late, again. Broke the rhyme, so I could start, again. I need a fresh start, and then something great. I mean I know someone great, she’s in another state, of mind. I just hope I’m not too late. Time? 4 past 8.
I told you to embrace the chaos, I tried to embrace it 2. But patterns will emerge, even when you’re randomly letting things go. I need to learn to let things go. I need to let people go, I sometimes let the right people go. So I’ll hold on to the wrong ones a little too long, until its gone wrong (seriously this is not meant to be so sing-song) that was a note to myself, but I’m not editing this or hiting delete once. I’ve done enough of that this weeknd. (Play: The Morning — The Weeknd)
Perfect song, just because I missed an E in weekend. I wouldn’t have missed that, if I was with you. ‘Order plane tickets, Cali is the mission.’
‘All that money, the money is the motive.’ I hate how that line looks, shoot it with a dollar bill.
Trying to get back on track, knuckle crack, ok we’re back.
I lived in Atlanta for 2 years, and I never visited anywhere I should have. I never visited Savannah. I don’t even know what’s in Savannah, but I know I should have made the trip. Is this to on the nose? That’s both direct address, and internal monologue; flexing my prose. Flexing’s for bros. Stereotypes are for hoes. Hypocricy in my writing, in real life that’s not as exposed.
I’m dancing around what I want to say. I could just send you a single PM, but this is more fun. Or its obnoxious, probably both, but who cares. (a pattern!)
Do you know what I want to say? I might not even know what I want to say. When’s the last time you’ve been crushed by the weight of the world? I know the answer, because mine’s the same. We’ll know the rest when I get off that plane.
Oh look, I closed the loop after all.