All There Is A Song by Gregory Alan Isakov And I lied to you when I knocked upon your door. See, I was nowhere near your neighborhood. lovemelancholy
The complexity and the gray One thing I assume of age is weariness. Damned if I don’t get more tired every day. Tired of what I do, following arcs like lobbed rocks — the inevitability of truth. But the complexity and the gray lie not in the truth, but in what you do with the truth once you have it. truthlifeagedecisions