in this world that remind me that i'm human.
When I think about why I'm here my brain
Well Yes, I've always known that
But where does truth live, and who says
what you say is truth and what I say is not?
Who says that this is not real, not full expression,
not authenticity? Who says?
You see, music makes me human because it possesses
me without ever talking to me.
Music never yells,
and it makes me cry.
Boy does it make me cry
Usually on long car rides
when i'm so insanely happy my cheeks hurt from
or so incredibly alone that five people don't answer their
phones in a row
and my eyes droop to the back of my head with silence.
Today I heard a song and imagined sweet sweaty hands holding
my small round head singing it to my perfectly chapped perfection lips
Then I sat next to an artist and we harmonized over ukuleles
Music has me so strung out that I could model my whole existence off of it
Become a musical and dedicate my life to it.
Have a dream and say "I'm Fantine! Now let me sing!"
I hate that Fantine dies. She was such an important part to Jean
and his future, their future.
I'm sorry if you don't get my references by the way.
Thanks Billy Pilgrim for being you.
But at the end of the day, I look at myself and am so god damn
happy that i'm not strung out on perfection,
that I don't fully know what I believe,
that life is not close to a curtain call
and that pretty pictures and laughs,
and especially music make me human.
Thank goodness for that
and to the opportunity for moments to be stuck in time.