I’m not one to straight up cry ambiguous tears on the subway.
I’m not really one to cry, period. I am an endless marching steel cage of spiders, wires and code… but goddamn it…
Frank Ocean’s White Ferrari is one of those perfect beautiful sad things. Like the moment you wake up from a really good dream, the recollection of something that never happened, and the hour after a perfect day when you realize you cannot go back.
The moment you recall that this shit right here is not forever, not guaranteed, not promised. And you’ll never really know how much you spent, how much you have left, or how many corners of who you are that have gone unexplored.
So the best thing you can do is be here and feel the fistfuls of pain and joy that come with the stampede of weeks.