was it ever as good as i thought that it was?
we had, what i thought, was the deepest of love
or was i the one carrying for the both of us?

i fucked it all up, just two decades of waiting
wrong time and wrong place, but i wouldn’t change it

my hands…they fumble, they bend, they feel....

Memories are elusive. They come and go seemingly by their own accord and sometimes fray at the edges, bordering on fiction as opposed to fact. Can we be ok with this reality?

How the hell do you figure out what you want to be when you grow up when you’re already entering mid-life?

It all begins with an idea.