(no subject)
I want to leave so badly that it hurts. It feels like there really is nothing left for me here...for the first seventeen years, this town was enough for my childhood curiosities, but I want to know what's "out there." There's a huge world beyond this little town; there's so much I haven't seen, so much I want to see. And I have so little to hope for where I am.
Why fill out worksheets and listen to mindless lectures when I know I could be somewhere else, learning something I know I'll use someday, taking classes I want to take, living my life the way I want to?
And it feels almost as if I'm not going to miss where I came from - it was nice while it lasted, but this chapter of my life is closing and I'm not sure I want to open it back up. There are friends I've made and places I'll miss, but if we're meant to stay together, we'll keep in touch; at least, that's what my childish fantasies hope for.
But what do I know; maybe the "real world" isn't so much different from here. And I know that once I leave, I can never come back.
Life is too short to waste my time on teenage romance and high school dramas. I should be concentrating on saving the memories I already have...and making new ones to remember, years from now.
What's hardest is the waiting. It feels almost as if I'm stuck here by force; I want to be somewhere else and I have the opportunity, but all I am left to cope with is a vague sense of wanting. I have to wait for semi, I have to wait for vacation, I have to wait for Annapolis, I have to wait for prom, I have to wait to graduate, to get a job, to make those final shopping trips, to pack up, to leave. Forever.
When I'm gone, this place won't be mine anymore. Not really. Oh sure, my bed will be there, and my neighbors, and my family, but I won't have the same grip on it I once did. My car, my bed, my room, my computer, my life, they won't really be mine; they'll belong to some person I once was, but lost in the shuffling transition between child and adult.
Patience never really was one of my virtues.
when we are old and weathered
and time has etched channels
in the creases beneath our eyes
and the lingering remnants of our smiles,
will we sit on our front porches, rocking methodically,
and watch life pass us by?
will we thumb through faded photographs
of forgotten friends,
forgotten loves,
forgotten memories
and wish for what might have been?
will we remember the could-haves, the should-haves,
the paths we wished our lives had taken
that somehow became merely shards
of memory littering our minds,
and wish for second chances far too late?
might we watch our children,
and their children too,
living lives that
we might have forgotten,
growing up,
replacing us?
or will we simply lie in wait
with nothing to live for,
waiting for an end to the tomorrows?
Why fill out worksheets and listen to mindless lectures when I know I could be somewhere else, learning something I know I'll use someday, taking classes I want to take, living my life the way I want to?
And it feels almost as if I'm not going to miss where I came from - it was nice while it lasted, but this chapter of my life is closing and I'm not sure I want to open it back up. There are friends I've made and places I'll miss, but if we're meant to stay together, we'll keep in touch; at least, that's what my childish fantasies hope for.
But what do I know; maybe the "real world" isn't so much different from here. And I know that once I leave, I can never come back.
Life is too short to waste my time on teenage romance and high school dramas. I should be concentrating on saving the memories I already have...and making new ones to remember, years from now.
What's hardest is the waiting. It feels almost as if I'm stuck here by force; I want to be somewhere else and I have the opportunity, but all I am left to cope with is a vague sense of wanting. I have to wait for semi, I have to wait for vacation, I have to wait for Annapolis, I have to wait for prom, I have to wait to graduate, to get a job, to make those final shopping trips, to pack up, to leave. Forever.
When I'm gone, this place won't be mine anymore. Not really. Oh sure, my bed will be there, and my neighbors, and my family, but I won't have the same grip on it I once did. My car, my bed, my room, my computer, my life, they won't really be mine; they'll belong to some person I once was, but lost in the shuffling transition between child and adult.
Patience never really was one of my virtues.
when we are old and weathered
and time has etched channels
in the creases beneath our eyes
and the lingering remnants of our smiles,
will we sit on our front porches, rocking methodically,
and watch life pass us by?
will we thumb through faded photographs
of forgotten friends,
forgotten loves,
forgotten memories
and wish for what might have been?
will we remember the could-haves, the should-haves,
the paths we wished our lives had taken
that somehow became merely shards
of memory littering our minds,
and wish for second chances far too late?
might we watch our children,
and their children too,
living lives that
we might have forgotten,
growing up,
replacing us?
or will we simply lie in wait
with nothing to live for,
waiting for an end to the tomorrows?