It takes a lot to feel good, I think.
To be content with the world around you takes a lot. It seems like it doesn't matter how many people you meet. It's never enough. There aren't enough faces to forget, I guess. Maybe other people are different. It doesn't seem to matter how many things happen.
We were supposed to play music tonight, the way we used to. But not everybody was able to show up. Oh well, I thought. This will still be worth it. The drums were loud. The room seemed to make them even louder, which didn't seem possible. All I could do was stare at my guitar. I tried to strum a chord, but it wasn't music. It was noise. It was noise from the drums and noise from my amplifier. There was no inspiration. No spiritual connection. No emotion. It was a big, uncomfortable room filled with noise. I stepped back. It was the last place I wanted to be at that time. I draped my arms over the guitar as the drums continued to pound away.
It wasn't like it used to be.
It doesn't matter who you are; it's a universal truth. People will disappoint you. Your best friends, your close friends, people you don't even know. And it kills you inside. Everyone lets you down. And then you think about it and you realize something. Everyone includes you.
I dragged my feet out of the house as I packed everything back up again. It was a lot of junk, and I hadn't even used half of it. I leaned against the car and stood in the cold. I could see the stars. I haven't looked at stars in a long time. I wished I had my telescope. Then I saw a shooting star and made a wish--a better wish. A wish a friend told me she made one time.
It takes a lot to feel good, but not much to feel warm.
To be content with the world around you takes a lot. It seems like it doesn't matter how many people you meet. It's never enough. There aren't enough faces to forget, I guess. Maybe other people are different. It doesn't seem to matter how many things happen.
We were supposed to play music tonight, the way we used to. But not everybody was able to show up. Oh well, I thought. This will still be worth it. The drums were loud. The room seemed to make them even louder, which didn't seem possible. All I could do was stare at my guitar. I tried to strum a chord, but it wasn't music. It was noise. It was noise from the drums and noise from my amplifier. There was no inspiration. No spiritual connection. No emotion. It was a big, uncomfortable room filled with noise. I stepped back. It was the last place I wanted to be at that time. I draped my arms over the guitar as the drums continued to pound away.
It wasn't like it used to be.
It doesn't matter who you are; it's a universal truth. People will disappoint you. Your best friends, your close friends, people you don't even know. And it kills you inside. Everyone lets you down. And then you think about it and you realize something. Everyone includes you.
I dragged my feet out of the house as I packed everything back up again. It was a lot of junk, and I hadn't even used half of it. I leaned against the car and stood in the cold. I could see the stars. I haven't looked at stars in a long time. I wished I had my telescope. Then I saw a shooting star and made a wish--a better wish. A wish a friend told me she made one time.
It takes a lot to feel good, but not much to feel warm.
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