in the morning, through the window shade

Isn't it quite easy to think we've got it all wrong? Maybe the centre of our lives isn't the centre at all, but actually the stuffing of the empty places something else leaves; something better. Maybe the important things aren't important at all. And we spend hours, and days, and months worrying about them.

Maybe it will all go away if we stop for a moment and watch a plastic bag floating in the wind.

I remember, at Michael's house
in the living room, when you kissed my neck
and I almost touched your blouse
-Sufjan Stevens' Casimir Pulasky Day