This is not for you

Why do I even call myself a teenager? I am just not one. I bleed concern and think in years instead of minutes. I drive home with my Dad at 11pm while drinks are still healthy and pouring and talk to him about my songs. I think tequila is vile and my head hurts but the vibes are still somewhere in the positive atmosphere, even if I am sitting here listening to Bon Iver on my bedroom floor in Palookaville just like I was a year ago. Well...except a year ago (exactly) I was in a sleeping bag with my feet in someone's face, curled up at 4am trying to order my mistakes from worst to last, while my ex boy continued to live like everyone else. I still have the same playlist called 'sad' on my iTunes and I'm not really sure why I keep it there. I'm not a drinker, not really anymore anyway, I can't swallow the sadness it can provoke! Living isn't something I do very well all of the time, but sometimes I do get it right. 


I've found that the best part of living is finding someone else or something else that feels the same way that you do. And today, my sister and I laughed about whatever at the same time, and everyone around us laughed too - amazed at the fact that we could sound so similar laughing, yet be so different in every other way. Tiny legend. 


I'm in love with romantics, with lingering hugs, with siren songs, with smoke and mirrors and making things happen. I'm in love with loaded questions and bruises and making music that moves. I'm in love with keeping it fresh and keeping it interesting and keeping safe and  staying home on Friday nights. 


Ultimately I think I'm tentatively living (but still - living in hope).