mix tape compiled of retrospect.

everyday is just another mile passed on a (seemingly) neverending roadtrip. the rearview mirror seems pointless because you know that even if you managed to switch gears and head in reverse, the weather will have changed and the sun will have set and the drive will never be as smooth as it was on the dawn that you missed your turn.

we're told that it's all been said before, but if that were so then maybe we'd have ourselves a little more figured out. we're living the life of a dozen before us but the mistakes seem to be a brand new kind of fuck up; forgiveness, a breath made up of an air newly fresh.

there will always be a person who cries when it rains or dreams of dancing beneath a moon during the first snow of winter. the dreamers are the ones who will likely change, and it's unfortunate but it's true.




i'm talking in circles and i'm thinking in frayed strings of irrelevance. i'm frustrated and i'm cranky and i feel empty when i'm not glued to the better half that my body's come to know as thoroughly as the rapid beats of our hearts. i wish it made sense to someone else, but the only conclusion to be drawn is that the only compassion that's ever going to be genuine is the one that we show for ourselves and our wrong turns, and if we're lucky, the wrong turns of the person that we're desperately trying to keep up with.

keepupwithme.