I swear to god it was meant to be happy.
As was life. Everyday. Happy.
Not darker as I delved deeper. Not brighter as long as I remained on the surface.
I turn to Ritter for comfort. Maybe we have the answers all along, but we just like looking for them. As an excuse for something to do. As an excuse to be human.
Walking between the racks in the library and taking books home - just cause the cover illustration is nice, or the woman on it beautiful - is something I've always done. And enjoyed.
I've loved rain, and cake batter. Wearing the same pair of jeans, creating ripples. Cocoons, a few songs I can hum, and drives around dusk. Fighting for inane reasons and laughing when I didn't want to. At all.
Yes, I've loved. Cause at the end of the day, the purpose of loving is the pounding it takes.
Ritter.
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