No Better Than This

As I rest here immersed in what remotely resembles clouds in a hotel room, I cannot help but notice that while my head is propped up by a squeaky faux-leather headboard my mind is in a timeless space of lonely and momentary bliss. Nothing but the pure echoes of guitar strings and keyboard tapping vibrantly grace my damned deaf ears. "Don't go." But I can't. And for a moment. I'm gone. "You are mine." And words could not be more untrue, realizing my self-understood romantic loneliness. "I'll be okay." Words could not be more true, knowing that up to this complacent, though forgettable, moment that I have driven both with a premedidated aimlessness and directive purpose of which "I'm so proud." While I compose this haphazard blog entry, I've come to terms that I strive for perfection but thrive off of imperfection. Like the song.