I'm not sure what life truly is. Every time I try to think of life, I find a blank wall built up inside my mind. Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing something, you know? Maybe God forgot to put in that last piece that completes me. Maybe that blurry wall was meant to be there. I have decided that the barrier must be there for a reason, but I can't help but wonder if other people feel that wall, too. Do they have the same frustrations as me? Or is this blank wall unique to me? I often find myself trying really, really hard to list things that life could be. Sometimes I get confused, though. Is life made of feeling and thinking, or is it made up of touching and breathing, you know, stuff like that? Are the parts of life big or small, are there a few or several? I wish I knew for certain. Recently, I decided that I am going to make up my own version of life.
Life is feeling your chest swell up with emotions so strong, you feel like your lungs have collapsed. Life is making music with all the passion you have. Life is staring out the window at the streetlights until they're etched on the inside of your eyelids. Life is running so long and far that you get high. Life is holding the hand of someone you love as if you'll never let go. Life is driving fast at midnight with smoke and melodies trailing out the open windows. That's what life is.
But life is also forgetting yourself and messing up. Life is gasping into the pay phone receiver, begging for him to stop yelling, just for a second. Life is panicking so bad that you can't breathe. Life is being able to smell the cigarette smoke on your guitar strings. Life is feeling like your skin has been sewn too tighly around your body. Life is waking up to no sunrise, but clouds and the promise of cold. Life is cruelty.