the stubborn brother of my bed

i know when i write music people don't think the lyrics really make sense. they ask, "what is this song about?" and i can't find a solid answer. i'm a little ashamed when that happens, but i realize that it makes sense in my head, and i'm not sure why it doesn't make sense in everyone else's head. stream of consciousness writing only really works for the consciousness that is writing it. i feel something and i say it, and, to me, everything is interrelated in that sense. but to you, you have not been inside my head, and you don't know why all of these things work together.

i have to learn to play guitar.
or at least learn how to fake knowing how to play the guitar.
i have to start going to bed earlier.

i'm feeling lonely in that sense of not really knowing people anymore. i'm not actually lonely - i'm actually pretty satisfied, socially - but i feel bad that i don't talk to as many people anymore. i am not living in a dorm full of people and i don't go to a school where i run into lots of people all the time. i'm okay with that, though. i am okay with not seeing a lot of people all the time. i am perfectly fine with a few good friendships and some sporadic interactions with people that i don't really know.

part of me hopes to develop hiking as a new obsession or at least pastime.

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