the eb and flow
So I'm sitting here... on a bench... in Marty's sweater.... staring out at the ocean. It's strange, really. I don't know what to think of myself. All I know is that I'm cold and I can hear planes landing at the airport to my right. I'm listening to ATB wondering if this is it. More than anything, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I miss it. I miss it and I miss... him? Them? ... oh I don't know..... here's another plane. They're coming in wit more frequency.... the breeze is still cold.... and my iPod seems to be agianst me. You know, when it seems to pick all the hurtful songs from the past that you don't want to hear. Yea. It feels good though, being out here and not giving a fuck. But it will only last so long. Eventually it's gone. I don't want it to go, though. I'm at a place where I feel almost helpless. This is strange and awkward for someone who is as independant thinking as I am. I am strong. I am a survivor. ...but this will definitaley put all of my being to the test....
Hah.
My undoing is that which I think I am invincable to. The irony. But when it comes down to it, I miss him when he's gone. He's gone now. And I miss him. It's hard, harder than I'd like to admit. I guess it's just the way the story ends. It may actually be fitting that the story just ends.
...and begins.
Hah.
My undoing is that which I think I am invincable to. The irony. But when it comes down to it, I miss him when he's gone. He's gone now. And I miss him. It's hard, harder than I'd like to admit. I guess it's just the way the story ends. It may actually be fitting that the story just ends.
...and begins.