Finding Home

My life is a motion picture.
Every fragment is tied to some idea or concept I didn’t understand until I saw it on a screen in front of me. Love is Before Sunrise, Home is Garden State and her- She’s the girl next door. Not literally, she lives half an hour away, but I knew the concept of her before I ever saw her. My life is a motion picture and whoever scored it needs either a hug or a beatdown.
I’m undecided.
Every song, every band, every genre has a place, but the places are so haphazard that the moment I recall a memory it seems perfect until I put it into context. The song changes the moment, and individually that’s fine but together they begin to resemble a mix tape made by a DJ with schizophrenia. Maybe his hand’s on the radio dial and he has Parkinson’s, but the point is that it’s erratic. My mental playlist is wildly staccato, but her theme remains the same. Our song is Stairway To Heaven but her theme is acoustic singer-songwriter. This moment is not. This moment is Saosin. She’s hiding something.

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