stretching lies.
i just stared out the window.
explorer and philosopher bickered over something in the backseat.
rockstar smoked his cigarette and kept getting agitated with the radio.
i kept thinking that this is what movies are made of, epilogues and beginnings. there is no middle of the story, and we're always just starting or just ending. circles and cycles and steps going up and tripping coming down.
all i could think of through mayhem and a good meal were how my words have taken a vacation, how writing hasn't been what it used to. my honest demeanor and trying heart are wearing thin, and i want to lie to you all. it'd be easier that way...
my days are good, but my nights are better. i'm not uncomfortable in silence. i don't cry. choices riddle me with expectation. i find security in my family and friends. i've learned how to love again.
but he always said that i never take the easy route. i make things as difficult as possible. and the truth is the most horrid thing i can tell you.
so, on this snarling dark road...
my days are incohesive, and my nights are spent in my head as a hospital room. i can't deliver myself to quiet. crying is my laughter. i see no options. people don't disappoint me, i do. i can't find love in darkness.
honestly honesty and tricking myself to understand, rain is falling on my face when i look to what used to be the sky.
