You know those days when you feel funny? Want to confess everything to everyone about everything you know to be true, and shed your skin but walk out into the city streets and let them wrap their arms around you (assuming they will, I guess), and just bask is your newness and the strange way old fruits taste...now. All I can think about is music, and myself, and I wish I wasn't so self-involved but it's there, it's a gaping wound that won't close, a door that won't shut, the sun streaming in my windows like it always does, in the morning, while I'm trying to sleep, but it doesn't bother me anyways because I plan to sleep when I'm dead, I guess. Getting lost. So many people to tell "I love you" and so many secrets to keep and hands to hold. The world is so big, doesn't it ever just shock you?