| Today is a day. Just a day. Just a day. Just a day.
But consequences are consequences, and the past two weeks have been full of action.
Tomorrow I will be hungry. And hungover. I hope. I hope. I hope.
This journal is white and empty, and I never say what I want to. It just starts, and after two sentences, I get scared. As if I can hide from you anyway. You're removed in every way, and still you know where I am. Or at least that I'm not there. You'll find me if you want, so let the cryptic messages roll.
There's not room for any more Buttermans in this world.
I promised myself I wouldn't let this happen again. A promise I knew I wasn't wise enough to keep. I don't think it's fair to call us liars when we're young. We're just so young. Incapable. Fucking stupid. Promise is too big a word for someone like me to use. Someone like me. Someone in this place. Someone lost and wanting to be found. Wanting to find. Unable to find.
Promise is too big a word for someone who's searching for meaning. Happiness in the little things. Little things. Hah. I'm full of it.
Everything old was copied. I never figured out where to start.
|
| |
| I'm free of it all, and now the world is overwhelming. Where do I start? Where do I begin?
Four years of college will not be enough. Here's to the start of attempting to multi-task. |
| |
| I embrace my desire
to feel the rhythm
to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow
to feel inspired to fathom the power,
to witness the beauty,
to bathe in the fountain,
to swing on the spiral
to swing on the spiral
to swing on the spiral of our divinity
and still be a human. |
| |
| You are not a direct consequence of my actions. You are making yourself one. I did what I could to fix your insulted expression, and now it's your turn to believe me. This shit doesn't need more consequences. Move on.
|
| |
| Da-da-ba Da-da-pa Da-da-pa-daaah.
Da-da-ba DA-da-pa Da-da-pa-paaah!
It's really as simple as that.
Sorry. I'm better now. Promissse.
|
| |
