A fresh book, clean and full of potential; you inspire me. Let's take a stroll down memory lane.
Just a few years ago, you and I walked hand in hand down high school hallways and rabbit holes. We explored crinkles in young skin and spiraling thought processes that, without our excavation, halted any forward motion. Doodles in the margins, corners of you ripped, first attempts at lyrics hidden between each layer of you; you opened me up.
Years passed, bindings broke, and the disjointed ramblings of an angsty teen turned into the semi-organised ramblings I now turn into songs. And here we are: trying to live the dream in New York City. We're doing it, Diary. I'm about to dive into a summer packed full of music with you no further than an arms length away. When the path in front of me seems crowded with excuses and distractions, I'll let you lead the way, like you have for the last 12 years.
Your pages might not be pulled from tree carcasses, and my hand cramps a little less as I bear my world to you, but make no mistake: nothing about us changes.