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You're being duped. It's hard to watch.

Florence

Music is everything: silence, white-noise, speech, vibrations, swift motions, growing apart, growing old. It happens slowly and you wake up with forehead wrinkles. Try not to look so distressed, you're accountable for your choices, and your worry lines.

I get analytics for the pages I manage every week. I'm responsible for far more than I am responsible for myself. I don't have to look closely to see what is happening, and I am sorry. I wish it was more genuine than just feeling sorry for myself. I wish it didn't motivate me to do more.

The family behind me didn't enjoy the recital tonight. Knowing and analyzing 20th Century Music has been like being let in on a big secret. My professors know it too, so when a boy knocks over a half-full glass of water in class, our eyes meet and we all know exactly what it means. Or when an abstract painting inspires 4 movements of music, the correlation is clear.

It wouldn't be difficult to admit that 8:15 AM hurt my head. I started crying because I dreamt you were there, but when I looked back you were gone. "I'm sorry, I'm late for class." We were going to stop with the apologies. I wish I could still feel.

Home

I was 15 and it was raining, or as if I had gotten no sleep. My head was up against an unfamiliar bed frame, staring at an unfamiliar wall with an uncomfortable scuff mark against it. I could have laid down on the mattress, I had time to take a nap, but I wondered if that would be betraying my old house, or my own room, where I would never fall asleep again.

I lived there in that house, so this is the 2nd time I've ever moved. When I lean my head against the wall, I feel safe because I know I'm home.