the back path.

old friends never go away. i threw a pebble in the lake and i could see faces i hadn't seen in years. they will remain, and when they don't then life will no longer be worth it. if i don't live for others, then who do i live for? certainly not for myself.

we would walk the back path with two guitars and no directions. talking to the trees. talking to me and my ghosts. and then we swam out and never really came back. i'm here but i am not here. sick with love of the past, taking shallow breaths, trying so hard to keep the muscles going forward into nothing. and the nothing is the most beautiful thing i have ever seen.