m e m o r i e s.
So I’m just curious as to what this world holds in store for me. If someone were to say a few years ago that I would be in Bosnia I would have never believed it. A few years ago I was so free. I was free from anything and anyone that could possibly hurt me. The only bruises I had were those from mosh pits. The only scars I had were those from the skate park. This wasn’t so long ago. Not a long time passed from when the most important thing was deciding what pizza topping to get at 3:30 am with my friends. The times I discovered the smell of weed, the time I tried my first cigarette.
Not so long ago I felt my heart beat to the rhythm of the bass at a Kings of Leon concert. The things we would go through just to see someone play. Saving up money and sneaking out of windows and lying to our parents about sleeping over at a friend’s house. Lying about sleeping at all. Coming to school wearing yesterdays clothes, because watching the sunrise drunk seemed like a way cooler idea than showering. Skinny dipping seemed to take care of those things. No worries.
As I am on my way to the airport I cling onto everything and anything that I can get my hands on just to feel that safety. As I settled down into my seat staring at my ticket, I thought that clinging onto that V-neck I wore with you on that hot, summer night would somehow make you never forget me, as well. Looking out the window at the clouds, thousands of feet up in the air, clutching my iPod. Thinking that listening to that same song over and over would somehow nudge me awake. That when I would open my eyes I’d still have my head resting on your shoulder. One foot above the blankets with the TV being the only light in the room. Simple things, that get imprinted into my memory like some sort of a fossil that is meant to stay there forever and ever.
Then I meet people with different backgrounds, each person with their own little fossil memory planted deep inside their minds, and we share them. Both amazed at the things we have seen and done and loved and lost. And we start talking about the future. Except this time it doesn’t seem so gray. This time it reminds me of that warm, Arizona sunset that I loved to gape at in awe. I’m a mover. I move. It’s what I’ve been accustomed to. And I am starting to be okay with that. As long as I can keep collecting happier memories than the last.
Horrible memories are all forgotten. It's the good ones that cause me pain, sometimes. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I tend to take some moments and just cling onto them forever and ever. Maybe because in those moments, whether those people knew it or not, they meant the world to me. I didn’t show it. I hardly did, but once I was gone I learned most of them felt the same way. As years went on, step by step, we let our feelings emerge. But by then it was too little too late. Moving away taught me how to appreciate everything a whole lot more. It taught me to be more open, to say things when I mean them. To not wait for a better moment, because a better moment may never come.
Not so long ago I felt my heart beat to the rhythm of the bass at a Kings of Leon concert. The things we would go through just to see someone play. Saving up money and sneaking out of windows and lying to our parents about sleeping over at a friend’s house. Lying about sleeping at all. Coming to school wearing yesterdays clothes, because watching the sunrise drunk seemed like a way cooler idea than showering. Skinny dipping seemed to take care of those things. No worries.
As I am on my way to the airport I cling onto everything and anything that I can get my hands on just to feel that safety. As I settled down into my seat staring at my ticket, I thought that clinging onto that V-neck I wore with you on that hot, summer night would somehow make you never forget me, as well. Looking out the window at the clouds, thousands of feet up in the air, clutching my iPod. Thinking that listening to that same song over and over would somehow nudge me awake. That when I would open my eyes I’d still have my head resting on your shoulder. One foot above the blankets with the TV being the only light in the room. Simple things, that get imprinted into my memory like some sort of a fossil that is meant to stay there forever and ever.
Then I meet people with different backgrounds, each person with their own little fossil memory planted deep inside their minds, and we share them. Both amazed at the things we have seen and done and loved and lost. And we start talking about the future. Except this time it doesn’t seem so gray. This time it reminds me of that warm, Arizona sunset that I loved to gape at in awe. I’m a mover. I move. It’s what I’ve been accustomed to. And I am starting to be okay with that. As long as I can keep collecting happier memories than the last.
Horrible memories are all forgotten. It's the good ones that cause me pain, sometimes. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I tend to take some moments and just cling onto them forever and ever. Maybe because in those moments, whether those people knew it or not, they meant the world to me. I didn’t show it. I hardly did, but once I was gone I learned most of them felt the same way. As years went on, step by step, we let our feelings emerge. But by then it was too little too late. Moving away taught me how to appreciate everything a whole lot more. It taught me to be more open, to say things when I mean them. To not wait for a better moment, because a better moment may never come.