"You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends,
when you pass them at night under the silvery, silvery citibank lights,
arm in arm in arm and eyes and eyes glazing under.
Oh you wouldn’t want an angel watching over,
surprise, surprise they wouldn’t wannna watch,
another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults.
Make up something to believe in your heart of hearts,
so you have something to wear on your sleeve of sleeves.
So, you swear you just saw a feathery woman,
carry a blindfolded man through the trees.
Showered and blue-blazered, fill yourself with quarters.
Showered and blue-blazered, fill yourself with quarters."
Mistaken For Strangers :: The National
This song is amazing, cathartic, and somewhat timely and relatable; though I think part of me realizes that for years and years, possibly a lifetime, it is me who has mistaken myself for a stranger.
Do we fill ourselves with things to become recognizable, defined, a little less strange to everyone around us? Do we even know what it is we fill ourselves with anymore? I want to know what I'm filled with, what I'm made of, and what those around me are pieced together with. Tell your story, fill yourself with song, and keep your heart in tact.
We are all strangers to someone. We are all beloved to someone. We are all filled with so many somethings and someones.