No one will ever read this, but it still needs saying.
Why is it that its always the odd times at night that the hardest feelings hit you?
I'm finding myself again steeped in that nostalgic, homesick feeling I get every now and again. It doesn't help that its been impacted with all of these frustrating and unnerving feelings I've had lately. Perhaps its all just a side-effect of growing up and moving on, but that just seems like a cop out excuse for not being able to hack it. When I close my eyes, sometimes I wish it was 1998 when I open them. Sometimes I wish that I was stepping off of the plane onto Guam, and my life was starting over after seven years of incredible dissatisfaction and hatred of my adolescence in Virginia. Time passed, people changed and moved on, but I still feel like nothing about me has changed in most respects. I still have this wide-eyed view of things that most people have shed for a more hardened view on the reality of things. My biggest fear is that my best times are long gone, left on an island so far away and so out of reach that it might as well not exist anymore. Returning wouldn't change a thing. None of my friends remain, save a handful of acquaintances. The entire dynamic has shifted, and it wouldn't even be the same care-free existence I had. It would be rife with responsibility and the rigors of adulthood, as opposed to my entirely amazing post-pubescence that I had originally experienced. Weekdays would sting with bitterness at having my youth completely pulled out from under me, all the while not wanting even for a second to be that guy who refuses to let go of his youth. Every breath would heighten the nightmarish free-fall, and there would be the ground before I could even realize that I was crashing and burning out in fantastic failure.
I dreamed last night of old friends; it was one of those dreams that is fuzzy at best, but emotionally stirring as you try to wrap your head around the fragments. Pieces of what mattered floated past on a stream that rushed by while I rested on a bank, completely helpless to slow the flow. It swept out into the bay I lived on, and the lights of hotels and apartment buildings reflected off of the idle water in the twilight. I've always wished that there was a heaven half as perfect, where every great friend I've ever had is there on the shore as we watch the sun set together, and it repeats infinitely. The sand stays soft and the water warm as it perpetually crests onto the shoreline; the sky bleeds its oranges and purples together artfully betwixt thin stratus clouds on the seamless horizon. Every night is a perfect painting, movie, and soundtrack. Every second is a perfect bite. Every glance is an effortless bound. Each cadence of laughter begets another in uplifting choruses of sweetness.
In my mind, I'll be stuck in that place forever, afraid of growing up, guarded and blissfully unaccepting of change.
I'm finding myself again steeped in that nostalgic, homesick feeling I get every now and again. It doesn't help that its been impacted with all of these frustrating and unnerving feelings I've had lately. Perhaps its all just a side-effect of growing up and moving on, but that just seems like a cop out excuse for not being able to hack it. When I close my eyes, sometimes I wish it was 1998 when I open them. Sometimes I wish that I was stepping off of the plane onto Guam, and my life was starting over after seven years of incredible dissatisfaction and hatred of my adolescence in Virginia. Time passed, people changed and moved on, but I still feel like nothing about me has changed in most respects. I still have this wide-eyed view of things that most people have shed for a more hardened view on the reality of things. My biggest fear is that my best times are long gone, left on an island so far away and so out of reach that it might as well not exist anymore. Returning wouldn't change a thing. None of my friends remain, save a handful of acquaintances. The entire dynamic has shifted, and it wouldn't even be the same care-free existence I had. It would be rife with responsibility and the rigors of adulthood, as opposed to my entirely amazing post-pubescence that I had originally experienced. Weekdays would sting with bitterness at having my youth completely pulled out from under me, all the while not wanting even for a second to be that guy who refuses to let go of his youth. Every breath would heighten the nightmarish free-fall, and there would be the ground before I could even realize that I was crashing and burning out in fantastic failure.
I dreamed last night of old friends; it was one of those dreams that is fuzzy at best, but emotionally stirring as you try to wrap your head around the fragments. Pieces of what mattered floated past on a stream that rushed by while I rested on a bank, completely helpless to slow the flow. It swept out into the bay I lived on, and the lights of hotels and apartment buildings reflected off of the idle water in the twilight. I've always wished that there was a heaven half as perfect, where every great friend I've ever had is there on the shore as we watch the sun set together, and it repeats infinitely. The sand stays soft and the water warm as it perpetually crests onto the shoreline; the sky bleeds its oranges and purples together artfully betwixt thin stratus clouds on the seamless horizon. Every night is a perfect painting, movie, and soundtrack. Every second is a perfect bite. Every glance is an effortless bound. Each cadence of laughter begets another in uplifting choruses of sweetness.
In my mind, I'll be stuck in that place forever, afraid of growing up, guarded and blissfully unaccepting of change.