maybe it's sad...

but I keep having to remind myself that sometimes magic doesn't really exist.
Some times life is just scrabble-ass hard.

coordinating TB skin tests, running around the city, working, packing, cleaning, saying goodbyes, long drives,moving on, turning the page, starting fresh.
only it's not something I come to with glee and excitement, it's just something that has to happen, because staying would mean selling my soul just to pay my rent and going means living out of boxes and not knowing at all what will come and having to face everything that existed before all that happened.

Sitting at my desk, looking at the colors and all the blank pages. What is it that I want any more? I've convinced myself of so much, and so much seemed to have happened when I wasn't looking.

I had a dream that you left me on purpose at the record store.

I'm just gonna keep painting boats