i’m sitting here in my room with both fans on me, the wind blows through the window but my hair stays matted to my head. such a strange feeling, always me behind these eyes looking out a second story window thinking about time and how things are changing. i walked out of that building today that same building, always that building. i’m always angry, or exhausted, or tired, or sometimes even inspired. but tonight i left and i was at the end of my rope and i was complaining about something, sweat dripping off of my face in the thick heat of a savannah night. and then i heard live music, the unmistakable sound of an acoustic guitar hooked into an amp. ”god…college” i scoffed, but as i got closer i heard the words “rock me mama like a wagon wheel” and everything was slower. i blinked in slow motion and smiled as i kept talking but i wasn’t even there anymore, my words weren’t even mine anymore. i remembered james in my second story room in baltimore with his travel guitar and how he only played that song, over and over. and how i hated that song, but i loved how he loved it. and for that one slow moment, i remembered where i came from.
