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Lost or Found
That never happened before, and I hope more than anything that it never happens again. I was lucky. I was lucky. It's hard to come to terms with it, it's hard to move on. But I. Was. Lucky. Given the endless possibilities, I was so damn fortunate and I don't know how to accept that. I'm not sure if I can forgive myself, but I'm honestly not completely certain what my precise mistake was. All I know is that I could have paid dearly, I could have died. I have to laugh but I should have cried. I was lucky.
I keep saying that I won't get ahead of myself - no need to rush to conclusions here, just take it slow. But every time we intersect I walk away amazed; I've never had a drug like your smile. I'm not certain what I can even offer you but I would love the chance to find out. What a puzzle piece you are, fitting in a space I'd never noticed before. I wonder how you'd feel if you understood what I see in you. And I wonder, too, how I'd feel if I knew what you saw when looking at me.
It's a new chapter - new name, new face, and this perspective is oh-so-different from even a few months ago. I can't decide, though, if getting away from the things that at one time made me proud to be me was a mistake or simply a fact of life. I miss writing, I miss laying outside and looking up at the stars and wondering what exactly is up there. And what exactly is down here? I can't help but feel that growing up is a lot like giving up. I had dreams; some came true, some are distant memories.
I can't count the times that I have stayed awake until I literally fall asleep at my desk or on the couch. I just want more time, I don't want the day to end - not because it's anything special, but because it is undeniably mine. Work is great, sleep is nice, but the limbo in between is free time. Whether it keeps me sane or prods me towards the ledge could be debated, but it's mine. I'm not an insomniac, but there are certainly times I wish I was. As luck would have it, this moment is one of them.
One hundred words is a difficult thing for a perfectionist. I like to be proud of everything I do, and would love for everything I want to be life changing, profound, or at very least relevant in fifteen minutes. But it's just not - I'm not that clever, that dedicated, or that good at writing. So I end up amassing a pile of shit with a few good thoughts buried in there. I'm recording singles and the rest of the album is just filler so if anyone is reading through these... you'd be better off waiting for the greatest hits collection.
It's crazy what I've left behind - a wasteland of memories that will simply disappear with time. Places and names that once were significant to a shade of myself that just doesn't matter anymore. Actions that I took and words that I spoke, movies I lived and songs that I wrote, all the characters loved and hated are left tattered and faded - boxes in an attic that belongs to a house that belonged to a person who moved on a long time ago. I can't help but wonder if I have grown or if I'm just treading the same old water.
I want you to know what I'm thinking, what I'm writing, and what I'm feeling right at this moment. I want you to stumble upon these entries and peer into my torment and ecstasy. If you could hear my every thought, if you could see what I look like when no one's watching, you just might trust me completely or maybe not at all. My darkest secrets can be yours and I hope that you welcome my faults - numerous as they are, alongside my strengths. I want to be known completely, but I don't want to show you a thing.
I'm conflicted as to whether my lifestyle is finally catching up to me, or if I'm just failing to keep up with my it. To be fair, though, having a five and a half year relationship end is probably to blame for some of my idiocy as of late - though certainly not all of it. I'm just trying to get a grip on stable ground, I really am. The issue at this point is figuring out what around me is stable, what I might hold on to. Do I waltz off into oblivion or settle down into an uncertain space?
Soft glowing lights illuminating arched fingers clicking keys and making love to the words. Music screeches in the background like a child crying in the next room. An awkward taste in my mouth and a cell phone vibration in my head. I cannot. Answer. If only I found the key, if only I found the lock. Digital companionship is sines turned to squares - what we lack in specifics we recoup in absolutes. The elimination of incandescent waste. Certainty lies in finite possibilities - no one colors half a pixel. Moving parts are a thing of the past. The baby's silent now.
Stupid insomnia. How can I possibly be wide awake at midnight after all of 4 hours of sleep last night? Even drinking a whole bottle of wine did nothing to get me into bed at an appropriate time. I don't know what I am always so afraid of - it's my bed, and it's safe, but it seems like I'm always trying to extend the day. As if I could simply stay up indefinitely and never have to move on with the responsibilities that I have. But time doesn't stop and I just end up exhausted. You'd think that I'd learn.
I wish they had Spotify and Pandora and such when I was in middle and high school. I mean, I know I was lucky to have Napster as a means of finding new music without randomly dropping 20 bucks on a CD because I might just like it, but I can't help but think that my musical horizons might be even more broad had I been given the opporunity to incessantly stream music and receive formulaic recommendations. Impressive technology, for sure. What weird random indie rock bands from nowhere, USA might I have found, and what would it have changed?
Stomach in my throat as we plummet 300 miles per hour, screaming and crying and wondering if just maybe we are dreaming. I pinch myself on the arm and realize just how true it really is. The hair on the back of my neck elevates and I look around at faces I cannot recognize, and I wonder who I would call if only it were OK to use my cell phone. Would it be cruel to let you hear the end of hope? Or would one final goodbye be a fitting end to my time on this earth of ours?
I know it's a hail mary, but I'll be damned if I don't try. My heart and mind are set and I won't fold - call me pot committed but that would be inaccurate. I'm no fool, there's no reason to acknowledge sunk costs; the upside is the stars and I'm not going to pass up the opportunity. Here's to hoping my quiet persistence will pay in spades, here's to finding what I've been looking for, here's to something I can't even promise you that I deserve. I am fairly certain that I crossed the event horizon a while ago, now.
This whole situation is a storm of emotions and I'm caught in the cyclone of thoughts without knowing which one is right. On my keyboard sits a ticket from Penn Station to Ronkonkoma. On my mind is that we have not kissed. The former is more important for now, but exactly what does the latter mean? I know that I am wildly imperfect and I want more than anything to improve (not for you, by the way, but for me). I hope you can somehow learn to love each crack in my armor - and that I can do the same.
I wish I had my computer with me when I woke up this morning. I wanted to write an entry right then and there about how I felt - I was a little overwhelmed and I wanted to just let it flow out into words. I can't find them now, and wonder if I could have then. You were so beautiful and peaceful wrapped up in plain white sheets, I wonder if I belonged. I looked over at the white orchid and back at you. Maybe there aren't words, but if I don't try I'm afraid I'll forget what I felt.
I really feel like I'm on a better path - it's not that everything is going my way, but a lot is and I'm OK with that. Maybe it's time now for me to take a step, too, back in the right direction. I can pay the world back for what it has given me by being a better person, or at very least trying. I think it'll be easier with the help of new voice that isn't afraid to speak - and it's a voice that I respect. More importantly, I have my own perspective and I'm smart enough to grow.
I have to ask and hope for an honest answer: am I really ready to do this all over again? As much as I love it, and as good as it is for me in so many ways, am I ready? To be judged, to disappoint, to find myself fighting for what feels right at the time - can I do it? Believe me, I'm excited beyond words about all the things that could be great, but am I ready to take the bad with all that good? We aren't at the bridge yet, but it may be on the horizon.
It's not real. I reached out to grasp onto it but... no. I held a child and watched it nurse and there wasn't a happily ever after. There was no smile, no "thank you," no ending where I was whole. I fucked what I wasn't aware I had. I gave it all away to a charity that I burnt to the ground. Don't help me up, don't feel bad, I knew what I was doing all along. I was right for all of a second and I ran away with the truth. This isn't ever going to end but... no.
If I still believed in God, I think it might consume my life - what's it going to feel like to burn in hell? Because as much as I want to be a decent human being, as hard as I try (from time to time), there's no a shot in this life or the next that I could hold myself up to the ungodly standards of, well, god. Or any other supreme being for that matter - because they're all so fucking needy, what with all the prayer requirements and sacrifices. Seriously, what's the need for all that crap when you're immortal?
Flutter aimlessly, blown by winds you can't identify or explain. Crash to the ground only to be lifted up again when an updraft manages to catch you just right. And, oh, thank god. Will you ever reach your destination - how would you even know? No matter, keep on fluttering and just trust the breeze to cradle your dreams and breathe life into the hope driving you onward. Even if you could look back at the distance you've traveled you would be content to be just where it is that you are now. A tree, but once just a helicopter seed.
I wish you were going to be around this weekend to go out and spend an evening with me. The conversation is always pleasant, always interesting, and if I manage to make you laugh I'm rewarded with your infectious smile. You once told me that you thought of yourself as pretty average - well I'd like to see that bell curve. Nothing stands alone, and you can't just separate your personality from your body from your mind. The whole package truly is that - you have it. And I want it. I'm not used to being impressed, and yet here I am.
I'm sorry that it has to be this way. I wish I could be the person that you want me to be without sacrificing the person that I'm glad I am. If only a sort of mitosis could solve it all, a bifurcation of my being to fulfill our divergent desires. One sticking point of asymmetry, though - the human heart. So you can't say that I never tried because I have the scars to show for it - but it's killing me without fixing you. Just close your eyes and let me disappear into the night. Maybe in the next life.
What does it make you think every time you look at it? Is it a token of my affection, do you smile as I hope? Is it just simply a thing of beauty with no particular meaning? Does it sing to you after a long day? It ought to tell you that I'd be there in whatever capacity you might have me, whenever you might have me. I have a token that speaks to me, you know. It sits on my desk and I see it every day. To another it would seem plain and pointless, but I know better.
Sometimes I really do miss the simplicity of my history. The friends that wanted nothing more than just to be friends, the grass we laid upon, the cigars we smoked, and the cards we played. The whatever t-shirts, the broken-in Birkenstock sandals, the cargo shorts with a hackey-sack in the pocket. The music blaring out of whatever vehicle we could all occupy, the days and nights were ours. The lack of direction and destination, the abundance of ideas about how it was that we'd get there. Of course we all had to grow up. Well, I did.
All day I was thinking about you - reflecting on the moments we've had and dreaming of the ones we might. I had a dream last night, and I wondered if it was supposed to be you despite the dark hair. I wish we had more time, I want to focus on this. But on the way home I had a realization: I'm not sure where this road leads nor how long it might be. Myself and I have to have a serious conversation about this - we've got to decide just how far down the rabbit hole we're willing to go.
Which hope gets to ride on the shoulders of which dream? When do I decide that I'm going to sacrifice the love of X for needing Y? Explosions in the sky are less fireworks than tragedy - burning wreckage, my parade, and wishes aren't an umbrella. What's real and who decides it? Who's turning the key that awakens my deepest fears - my secrets can be yours. If you could fly, would it be on account of rockets, feathers, or the sort of magic cape we dream of as children. If I could fly I would be nose diving as we speak.
Let me decide what is worth what. You just do the same. It's my money, your time - forsake your sleep, I'll pay the fine. I'm dreaming of a day that only you complete, brainstorming a way to sweep you off your feet. My faults are so obvious, but I won't have you oblivious - I'm always changing but never perfect. I can't tell if I am coming off strong or weak, not sure if your interest is building or fading. I'm going to step back for a bit and play it cool. Then admit that I've no idea what it means.
It was a summer night, cool midnight air rushing through the windows. The music deafens me, my eyes focus on the road but I could almost forget that its there beneath me, in front of me, behind me. Reaching my hand over to the passenger seat just to feel alone. I know where I came from, where I am, and how fast I am going. But when I wake in the morning I'll be in the very same place. Years later I wonder what's changed. And why would I look back on what I thought was misery quite so fondly?
I'm lucky to be alive. Sometimes it doesn't feel quite that way, but I know deep down that it's true. Life isn't like 100 words - statements have to ring true forever, stand the test of time. I can think, feel, say whatever I want here and it only has to be true for that one moment. Not that it will disappear, but I don't have to answer for it. So long as I keep my identity a secret, so long as I remain anonymous. This is a refuge because even if my boss is reading he's not aware it's me.
Drawing close to the end, here. I'm not certain if I will do a November batch or not - it's possible I'll start but not finish, I haven't really decided yet. At any rate, I'm glad I did this. I've made a lot of questionable choices lately, maybe even more than usual. This wasn't one of them. I wouldn't say it makes up for my poor decisions but at very least it gives me something to be proud of. Not because I wrote anything great, but just because I took a step to better myself. A step that only I see.
I've never had a drug like your smile, it's been a little while and I'm reeling. I can't figure out who I am, I don't know if I can with how I'm feeling. I made a single promise to myself, didn't tell anybody else what it was. Now I'm wondering how to tell you, I'm thinking you're who was the cause. Is this the price of my dear sanity, pardon my profanity but it's all fucked up. A single word from your lips will lift my head, when I am laying down in bed and thinking that I fucked up.
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