Commuters from Aging Truths by Meridian

There’s a million songs in my head, each one screaming to get out. Each one hoping to become more than a thought trapped in a nerve, and I get overtaken by the overwhelming possibility that they exist. So I power through the work week. Set my goals and write to-do lists. Do the dishes. Pick the clothes up off the floor. Wasting weekdays watching walls and willing them to somehow fall without ever putting my hands to work. Chorus: So stop thinking in absolutes. Do this and I’ll follow suit. I’ve nothing but fond memories of you. I read the messages you sent and memorized those ten digits like they were written on the insides of my eyes. Apologies and punishments. A cold shoulder. The warmest glance. A pause, a curse word and a smile. Photographs and alcohol. The shirt you sent to me last fall - I never wore it, but I lied and said I did. Attempts to be constructive. Don’t know why I’m so reluctant. The first step always was the hardest one. (chorus) The arguments I had with you stayed with me like a bad tattoo you laugh about but secretly regret. And I never did keep a score, but if I had to guess I’m sure you were at least a thousand points ahead. But I loved you cause that didn’t seem to matter. Our aging truths could always coexist in intermittent messages and blurry photographs of friends we still hope that we can call our best.

• Alternative
• acoustic
• folk rock
• indie
• indie rock
• punk
• Cleveland