something concerning everything occurring

Summer's taking it easy on me tonight, sitting on the rug with the breeze from the rotating fan catching me every 15 seconds or so. I just put on an old Kurt Vile record that reminds me so much of when we first moved into this apartment a year ago. It reminds me of sitting beneath this rug, on the floor, before I ever found the jute thing on Craigslist, before there was any of our furniture at all.

It's hard for me to listen to music that once meant so much—I guess, because it still means so much. It's of a certain time, and, although I'm a big fan of change, I can't wrap my head around time passing. Instead of the years building up and accumulating and becoming this life, I feel like mine is a book of short stories, cohesive only in the way that they're created by the same author.

As Kurt sings, and I so easily relate: "I don't know if it's real, but it's how I feel."