We are nowhere, and it's now...
July 5, 2008
It’s summer, which means she’s in New England, again. Things never worked out, and I guess they’re not going to. It’s moot anyway, because I’m leaving in little over a month for college in upstate New York, and she’s still got her senior year of high school down here in good old Florida. Soon we’ll lose touch, she’ll forget about me, and I, in turn, her. I guess everything will be okay after all, albeit for different reasons than I had anticipated.
It's funny how sleep deprivation stirs in me some instinct to write. And not just to write, but to write about sappy things in that annoyingly "elevated" style of mine that is at once fragmented, long-winded, and unintelligible. Or to be 'meta' in my topics: loving to love, loathing my loathing, writing of writing.
I wrote a letter, and it was, among the things laid out above, cathartic. It's off my chest. It's done.
What's done is done, and as ashes make their way back to ashes, so do I.
18 was a good year in many respects, and I'd like to recall a quote which is now a cliche. I'll give you a hint: it's by Jesse Lacey.
The highlight of being 19, however, includes a visit from Katie. Go me.
It’s summer, which means she’s in New England, again. Things never worked out, and I guess they’re not going to. It’s moot anyway, because I’m leaving in little over a month for college in upstate New York, and she’s still got her senior year of high school down here in good old Florida. Soon we’ll lose touch, she’ll forget about me, and I, in turn, her. I guess everything will be okay after all, albeit for different reasons than I had anticipated.
It's funny how sleep deprivation stirs in me some instinct to write. And not just to write, but to write about sappy things in that annoyingly "elevated" style of mine that is at once fragmented, long-winded, and unintelligible. Or to be 'meta' in my topics: loving to love, loathing my loathing, writing of writing.
I wrote a letter, and it was, among the things laid out above, cathartic. It's off my chest. It's done.
What's done is done, and as ashes make their way back to ashes, so do I.
18 was a good year in many respects, and I'd like to recall a quote which is now a cliche. I'll give you a hint: it's by Jesse Lacey.
The highlight of being 19, however, includes a visit from Katie. Go me.