So I Left Him There Alone To

Really? Screaming?” He Shrugged. “it Wasn’t That Bad. But There Were Definitely Some Freak-outs On Both Sides. Though, To Be Honest, The Silence Was Worse.” “worse Than Screaming?” I Said. “much,” He Said, Nodding. “i Mean, At Least With An Argument, You Know What’s Happening. Or Have Some Idea. Silence Is… It Could Be Anything. It’s Just –” “so Freaking Loud,” I Finished For Him. He Pointed At Me. “exactly.

…you Don’t Want The Best Of Times To Be Just One Thing, Forever. You Have To Have A Lot Of Bests Of Times, Each One Topping The Last. You Know?

It's Only Advice. Ignore It If You Want.

I Was Actually Pretty Miserable In High School. I Couldn't Wait For It To Be Over. And When It Finally Was, I Remember Sitting At Graduation With All These Classmates Getting Nostalgic And Emotional Already And All I Could Think Was, "get Me Out Of Here. I Never Want To See You People Again." So It's Ironic That I Spend Half My Day Putting Myself Back There By Choice [while Writing].

It Was Like Those Songs I'd Heard As A Child, Each So Familiar, And All Mine. When I Got Older And Realized The Words Were Sad, The Stories Tragic, It Didn't Make Me Love Them Any Less. By Then They Were Already Part Of Me, Woven Into My Conciousness & Memory