Thursday, May 5, 2011

don't forget me.

I can give her flack for it till the cows come home, but I like music about feelings just as much as the next lame girl, and Sarah nailed it by showing me this diddy (and then rightfully teasing me while I fell in love with it).

There is such comfort in a bath of nostalgia when I find my own truths falling away.
There won't be another lazy Sunday at the Green Room or a living room filled with orange light and raspy voices, or a dirty skillet and empty wine bottle on the countertop, wardrobe mirrors and breadboxes of art supplies, and joining that happy bank may soon be the home in which I grew up.

Keep it hazy.

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