I like to imagine each new day is like a fresh page in a book.
As the day starts it’s spiral down the drain, I rarely hold the quill.
I’ve always kinda just let it do it’s thing.
Because I didn’t care.
At the end of the day I skim back over the page.
I don’t read it, the events of the day are of no matter to me.
I’m just looking for your name.
As long as when I look, I can find you there.
I don’t have to tear that page out.