I am playing a piano tuned to the key of a moving train, realizing certain songs sound like lives not yet fully at rest.
We come and we go. We rise and we fall.
It can take a long time to love someone who only loves themselves as long as it takes to type their bio on a ghost.
It can take a long time to truly see yourself in a mirror without any ghosts getting in the way.
We’re confetti and quicksand, cathedrals and cliches.
Sometimes we’re even here and gone before the end of the song.
Quick, while I have your attention, may our bruises serve as light bulbs,
and any lost voices find their way home before sunrise.
RichRant 