It's that feeling I get, it's that feeling you give. It's the fact that I'm trying so hard, it's the fact that you're not trying at all. What did we do? When did we become strangers.

I can always go back to you, to the way everything's simple. The way the light hits the ground, the way it lights up the air. The way we're not perfect, but it just feels fine. It feels familiar and warm, almost like home. Where I feel safe, and for some reason I'd never want to leave, because I know that this is as near to perfection as I'm going to feel, and that maybe, just maybe, my stupid big ideas and dreams aren't all that stupid after all.

It's when I know who I am.