Long Way Down

Who do you love, and with whom are you in love? Honestly, I don’t really see a huge difference, but apparently that’s how you define you “like” to be with better. It’s funny, honestly.

I’ve been thinking about my birthday. It all seems to play back to me like a monumental, revolting lie. I had to pull my car over when the song that I wrote about came up about it. I hate drifting out of favor with important songs.

And finally, that’s just it, isn’t it? We always keep striving– running toward a single goal, forever and ever toward to horizon. Following me? That very horizon is what we search for, our personal desire. You see, we’re always running to it. Tonight, I got the harsh reality of it. It was empty, so very empty. There’s nothing like smiling to a crowd for a job well-done, nothing like it will make you feel so entirely alone. When you want to grab someone, just to be with, who can you really? Even if they are there, they’re probably too happy to annoy with the disillusionment of neediness.

So what’s left? In boxes piled high with meaningless notes and letters, in photographs from trips, and now in the voids of conversation you’ve left, there’s something a little fallen, something a little darkened, and something a little broken. But beneath it, you’re still there– clean and beautiful as ever. And that is the most painful part.