As things in my life continuously change, I am struck by how much everything reminds me of what has happened before. Here I am sitting with wet eyes with the same song I listened to over a year and a half ago, reminding me that everything would be ok. And I am writing. I am writing with the same melancholy happiness. The kind of sad happy where you know its going to be ok, once you get to the crescendo.
You’re not supposed to understand what I am talking about. But listen to the song that I am listening to, and maybe just part of the melancholy happiness will be clear. Nuvole Bianche
And so, for the first time I am ready to be something that I am. As compared to who I am not.