But even at our swiftest speed we couldn't break from the concrete...

Hey.

Sometimes I feel like a cup with a tiny hole in the bottom; it's a hole so small you can't even see it. Nothing even drips from the cup-- you only know it's there because there's a wet ring on the table every time you move it. And you keep pouring more and more water in the cup, refilling it every day, thinking it can hold just a little bit more, but really it's full, it's really full and it's floating on a thin membrane of its own offerings, and you still keep checking it, filling it, filling it until clumsy people are afraid to come in the room because they might bump the table and that would be the end of the cup that's too full.

Sometimes I feel this way with good things. Sometimes I feel this way with bad things.

Sometimes I feel like maybe the good things are the cup and the bad things are the water, and the cup's okay because it's got so many layers, and as long as the layers are together they'll keep all the water until it evaporates, until it disappears, or at least until it's manageable again.

Then sometimes you don't like school and you don't like your job and you don't fall in love and you never have money and you keep losing friends and you're always sick and you don't remember how to talk to God and none of the layers are broken but none of the layers are whole.