Morning and Midnight
it's strange this year, must be the place; things are coming up, or out, or back, things put in the past. people put in the past. songs that always held their spot in tangible torn off corners of my other lives. the desire for newer, brighter bindings feels lately fading, stemmed from lack of new findings I suppose and I consider the winter’s got me down and indisposed. the winter got me close. this year the winter bought the most in months of earnest mornings and solo midnight toasts. hours into light and feeling in the dark for ideas of fate. of faith and finding. positivity from all my faulty sides. some say faith is futile, some feel faith divine, but here I am for faith is just a question, and your belief in a strangers nod. in that sense, suspect the face of every stranger brings to you the face of god, and every foreign road should find you with a smile, knowing. you've been known. maybe now, maybe once, maybe all those eyes along the road were all yours before. I think the beauty in it all is the lack of answers, and life's only finite shine , is that it's all abstract. in bleeding over fate I've found that you find your choices in your day, they do not find you gripping, hanging on in faded jeans for glory and fatalist whims. we don't blow with the wind, and though the romance ripens in my blood, everything I have loved has been found by constitution in that only I decide I; and here I place nostalgia, here I take my name. these feelings all inherited, these feelings built the flame. this year I reach for firmament, and from the vault I'll pry.