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Here we go again.

Dancing under the sun, our shoes are fun of sins. They pin us as liars, haters, and negative nancies, but our own sunset is what we see. It is the rhythm inside our heads that push us farther. They can't understand. They never will.
We speak a foreign language which humanity cannot comprehend. Because of this we suffer, but rising like the dough, our hot air balloon heads stay afloat.

To Kill A MockingBird

Pull me here, push me there. The way the wind blows through your hair. The same look I've always got. Rolling like tumbleweed through life. Who travels the paths of our lives before us? Tell me the name of the man who has beat the grass down which allows me to walk on my own feet. I am a boy, but I may not be your huckleberry.


People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness.
Just because they're not on your road doesn't mean they've gotten lost.
~H. Jackson Browne