Film is absolutely an art form
And if you try to tell me any different
I will fight you with all I've got
But where some art forms
Like painting, sculpture, or writing
Exists to create something new
Something that previously didn't exist in our world
Film is different
In that it is dependent on finding beauty in what we already have
I think that's why it's so important to me
I've spent so much of my life hiding in imaginary worlds
I need to remind myself
That there is plenty of magic in this one as well.

When I was little
I knew exactly how to answer
When adults asked me,
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Why is it that now
When I'm right on the cusp of adulthood
That suddenly I can't remember my lines?

I've never been one to ask for help
I've always been the one
Who would rather strain a muscle
Or drop something on my toe
Than admit weakness

Now I wonder how I managed this far in life
Failing to understand the definition
Of the word
                                                                Strength



Ants can lift 20 times their own body weight
But even though it sometimes feels like it
I am not an ant.

Sometimes I fall victim
To the Grand Cliche
When I sit awake at night
Listening to the sound of the crickets
Provide backing vocals
In the summertime
In the sweet summertime
And I think to myself
That somewhere far away
You're probably doing the same thing
Listening to songs that make you feel alive
And soaking up the night air
Maybe listening to the crickets as well
And in that way
Maybe
You aren't quite so distant
*Strange how the night moves

I've been out of school for less than a week
And I'm already mostly nocturnal
I'm not sure if that has anything
To do with the fact
That it's easiest to recall you face
Or the sound of your laugh
When I can sit in darkness
My mind unmarred by the harshness
Of the sun illuminating a reality
Where you aren't here

It might be that in 4 months
I won't even remember the way
You silently shook with laughter
Or the way you looked
When you took off your glasses
To clean them on your shirt
The way you absent mindedly made music
Wherever you were
Whether by tapping on your desk or with
The old guitar that your dad gave you
How you always had
Some obscure reference
To relate to anything and everything
And how you were unequivocally kind

It might be that in 4 months
Your face has stopped
Making cameo appearances
In all my dreams
And the songs on my iPod
Have stopped being about you

As painful as it is  
To look for your face in every crowd
I think I would be lost
Without that last bit of hope
And I'm not quite ready
To let go of that yet

There are some songs
That if you catch me listening to them
By myself in the middle of the night
That's when you know
That I feel like a waterfall inside
Even if on the outside
I seem stagnant