And you think this is ironic, don't you? Or you think it's funny, or that it makes sense. And it does in a way, I'm trying to agree with you enough to say. It does make sense, but in a way that disappoints me, because to have it make sense would mean certain conditions were fulfilled. And thinking of fulfillment gets me thinking of filling and I'm filled and I'm empty all at once. And it's because I've got all these hopes and all these promises, all these leads to nowhere– and I know deep down how good the somewhere I'm heading to without you is, I know, but I really hoped there was some way to make this journey we had seem like a trip I'd want to look back on, seem like a trip I'd want to keep an album of photos from, like an album I'd hide all the concert tickets and gas station receipts from and all the hugs all the stupid hugs I got from you, I'd still feel the warmth from. But it's not like that, I guess I spent my time in nowhere, and I guess that's where I'll have to admit I stayed. And I'm somewhere else now, somewhere good, and it isn't funny, and it isn't ironic. Ironic is talking to someone who is no one to me now. Ironic is in that space that used to be filled with something else and now it's nothing else but space, space, space. I want space from the space. I want a belief to hold me in my place. You can't give me what I need, but I've been thanking God anyways for what I have, and I'm getting by just fine.