A question rarely asked but when done so, the subject is more than likely puzzled into a whirlwind of existentialism. I pondered over the question for a short time and told her I would get back to her with the answer shortly. However, I have come to realise I am not just one.
I am a living, breathing embodiment of every experience I have ever had since the moment I was birthed into this world to now. I am the soft tiptoeing of a toddler upon wooden floorboards. I am the eruption of squealing laughter that comes when a cup of milk spills. I am the awe when first hearing Breath (In the Air) on a cassette player. I am the scent of birthday candles. I am sleep dust corned in my childish eyes. I am rolling over on a Sunday morning. I am misery and pain. I am photographs of coffees and live sets. I am turning over the last page of a book and shedding a tear. I am dreams. I am a smile at the awakening of a humid day, the kind where the sweat sticks to your skin. I am driving down an empty highway to Riders on the Storm, with trickles of rain staining the roads. I am walking over a cobblestone bridge on a shitty English morning. I am driving through the valley. I am ecstasy and American Spirit. I am a fringe that failed tremendously. I am hoping for the release of my heart within the glass jar. I am the sound of Gymnastics in the Seventies. I am the hook of your favourite song. I am holding back the tears in your favourite French film.
I am everything. I am this. I am whole.
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
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