Songs to me are like containers for feelings. Pre-song, a feeling is sprawling, wild, almost *unbearable*, but then after I write the right song for it— it fits somewhere. It fits in the container I made it. It feels more manageable.

I can still feel the thing without feeling overwhelmed by it. It is contained. I can go to the museum and look at the feeling in its case and say, “wow, what a beautiful thing. How interesting.”

Here is, then, a container for a feeling….(oh and you can listen here)

lyrics:

(“25”)

summer you first saw me

we were just kids

you asked, “are you hungry?”

i said, “i could eat.”

we made a feast out of nothing

we made a show out of shit

i’m 25 now, missing all of it

i thought i’d have no limits

but i act like everything’s a wall

i miss the way it felt when someday meant freedom and someday was far away

now it’s all in my hands

i don’t even want hands anymore

i want to lie in bed and dream as though someday is far away

spring i turned fifteen

i told you everything

spent my days plotting

how fast i could leave home

i’ve been faking it

but i’m still not making it

everyone knows, everyone knows

we’ll make a feast out of nothing

we’ll make a show out of shit

i’m twentyfive now, don’t want it to end

i know i have my limits

i act like everything’s a wall

i overthink until the good things become bad dreams but you turn them back again

now it’s all in my head

you take my hand and drag me out

someday i’ll find a way to look at where i am and not wish it all away