i wanna take you somewhere so you know i care
but it's so cold and i don't know where
i brought you daffodils in a pretty string
but they won't flower like they did last spring

There are days in these persistent weeks of the year...
When the sky is a block of grey outside the window,
It takes its place with such certainty that even the raindrops will not take their time
to appear on the glass in an attempt to divide it,
Sprawled across the floor with music in my ears I come to the conclusion that
Tom Odell is the only person in this world who understands me.
I hold my legs and cry into my knees
but they never hold me back,
After a while I crawl to the corner of my room,
And sit with my back against the radiator;
Any warmth will do,
And despite my enjoyment of this warmth
I can feel the radiator making dents in my back,
It reminds me of the way each day dents the week with its appearance,
The way it reaches Sunday, battered, bruised and tortured,
But it never stops,
It just carries on
and carries on.
And so maybe the persistence of each week is something to be admired...
But it still hurts
and hurts.

Thoughts.. You've been nickled and dimed...hassled and crimed...robbed at point blank range...Me too. us The 30 an under...No magic card given by Tom Joyner...We missed out on Odell's, And now get the Owells...institution tuition...constitution divison...We reap what was sown, by the rich and the grown...And given the jobs that our kids should own...Whats 13 dollars when rent is 8 bills...whats flat land when all we got is hills...Nickled and dimed...and their crying for themselevs...greedy money suckers with library shelves..Im you with jingles and bells..protest and yells..that nobody hears..but everybody fears..quaterly robbed...nickled and dimed...as if it was ok to be hassled and crimed..#weinthistogether

i want to cry and i want to love
but all my tears have been used up.
on another love
-Tom Odell-

i remember the 17th of may but i doubt you do. another day driving in your car, this time tom odell playing through the stereo. the sun was melting our skin like honeycomb, sweet and delicious as we kissed at each red light, slowing before them on purpose, even before the traffic lights flashed amber.
i only remember that day specifically because you turned to me and said, “this is what it’s all about.”
“what’s that?” i asked.
and you said, “days like this are what life is all about,” slowly and quietly, but i still heard you because tom was singing even slower and even quieter.
how can i move on?
roads and highways are plagued with these endless thoughts of you.