the funny thing about this is that i thought “it’s a comfort that listening to this song late at night is a constant in my life,” before i noticed the unintentional play on words. while i’m not working on what i should be but doing what i should be in a bigger sense, thinking the same things i’ve thought for years, but differently, because i think that’s how it goes and i should stop fighting it. i don’t know what i’m doing really, constantly in the darkness, where’s that at? and at the same time there are these lines and bruises and wine and it all comes around and around again. different living rooms, different months and years, same people, same questions, same joni, who sounds like me and like my mother and like woodland winters and chuffed hands and old wounds that are familiar in the licking. i am as constant as the northern star.

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