"They tell you where you need to go
Tell you when you need to leave
They tell you what you need to know
Tell you who you need to be
But everything inside you know
There's more than what you've heard
So much more than empty conversations
Filled with empty words"- Switchfoot
Rights of admission reserved.
Tell you when you need to leave
They tell you what you need to know
Tell you who you need to be
But everything inside you know
There's more than what you've heard
So much more than empty conversations
Filled with empty words"- Switchfoot
Rights of admission reserved.
Contorting that a little bit, admitting something is one of the hardest things to do. So reserving the rights to it, doesn't make life any simpler. For you of course. Everyone else is always trying to make you 'admit' to something. Doesn't matter if it's true or not, just admit it. And you, poor, cornered soul, admit whatever there is to admit anyway, just because it may be the right answer. But it never is. It changes the face of your interrogator within seconds, almost like the light changed from a calm blue to a piercing, hurting red. As for you, the admission suddenly changes everything around you. Just like I'm contorting the initial phrase to base my pathetic rant/argument on, your surroundings will start merging, then distancing, amalgamating, then solidifying, discoloring and then forming their own unusual palette. All of a sudden, you don't know what's the truth anymore. You don't know how you felt in the first place and how you feel now. And whatever you feel, is it a stand-alone thought, unique to your mind, or an amoeba created with now-there-now-not-quite thoughts of these ever-changing minds around yours. How in that case, are the rights reserved with you, pray tell? This is what it actually meant, not on placards and the back of VIP passes, but in the foundation of a social disaster-scene. Reserved with whomsoever shotguns. Shotgun.
Let's not be social monstrosities and lead our own lives and stop drawing invisible lines for others in our heads, and then just conveniently forget to inform them about them. Let's stop becoming unbecoming property assumers on another frivolity-through-life companion. Stop. Let me be. Let it be pure, and plain sweet. And comforting. What will it take for you not to take it away?
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