Lost at Sea

Every time you look up at the stars, it’s like opening a door. You could be anyone, anywhere. You could be yourself at any moment in your life. You open that door and you realize you’re the same person under the same stars. Camping out in the backyard with your best friend, eleven years old. Sixteen, driving alone, stopping at the edge of the city, looking up at the same stars. Walking a wooded path, kissing in the moonlight, look up and you’re eleven again. Chasing cats in a tiny town, you’re eleven again, you’re sixteen again. You’re in a rowboat. You’re staring out the back of a car. Out here where the world begins and ends, it’s like nothing ever stops happening.

Fuck you fucks and the fucks you fucked in on!

‎All my stupid little thoughts beget stupid little thoughts, rampantly speculating every possible outcome of every possible situation until they're all done to death and none of them could ever be true.

I have a lot on my mind and not a lot to do so it's going to come out, all of it, and then, then, it may begin to make a sort of sense

And sometimes I try to stop speculating the future out of existence, and other times I just lean back and run with it because maybe it's for the best.

Maybe it's important to open up I people- people who are right there with you, not some thousand miles away in another universe. Or maybe it's something else. Maybe I should just settle for not knowing. Maybe it's just good to know that you're not the only one who doesn't know.

I’m just confused. Everything’s confusing. Everything beautiful is far away, or maybe everything far away is beautiful. It’s like how the grass is greener on the other side. Grass just looks nicer from the other side, you know? Grass where you’re standing looks like dirt with hair.

Maybe all these desperate clashing feelings I'm feeling are just random brain activity, maybe I'm just delusional. But there are things that I miss, and things that I feel like I should be seeing and feeling every time I turn around, and I just keep turning and turning and turning, and there's nothing.