my mom gave me albums of an old hippie who still writes and records his own music while working as a civil engineer. i want to kill myself. i was in a good mood, but it only lasted about a half an hour. i don't know why i searched. i don't know why i asked. i want to taste everyone that i see. it's hard when you fail yourself. i just realized i don't know the words to my own songs. we're not who we once were. that may be the hardest thing to swallow. i feel very muted. small smiles replacing happiness, like i know what the motions are, or at least the muscles do. i've always been sad i have nothing to be sad about. i used to always think i was a guitar player. i'm not. i don't know what i am. i feel like i'm trying to fool everyone i know. i hear the difference between me and them.

i just want to be remembered. just a little thought, now and again. nothing major...nothing lifechanging...just a memory.