This is to the world and how god damn beautiful it is.

I think that's the most important thing: when life kind of screws you over a little bit, you've got to learn from that experience.

And seemingly as winter has become spring, confusion has become insight.

...You know what I mean?

Things are fragile, but we're all being carried and I think we're all on our path in that sense. As fragile as things are, we're still getting there.

I am lucky. I did not choose this life. It chose me. It's strange like that; not picking my path, but rather easing into the water and letting it carry me where it will. Yes, there will be nights where I feel like my destiny is at my fingertips and there will be nights I wish the lights were off and I could just make these sounds in the dark. Still, I will always be there, wherever there might be, staring into blackness hoping the blackness stares back at me.

It's always strange to read the things you've hoped for in the past because by now those hopes may be spoken for or gone, transformed or altogether forgotten. Like time, hope can be so senseless. It can carry us up mountains or lie us in the quicksand. But like time, hope is unstoppable, inevitable, and blind. Sometimes we travel fast, hurdling towards the unknown, sometimes the unknown comes hurdling towards us while we watch time standing still.