Off the grid

The first punch hits the hardest but after that it all rolls from the tips of my thumbs. Such a steady drum. Like the sound of a heart beating against pavement while hands find home in silver bracelets. The echo of footsteps bouncing off alley walls. I tap. The screen is smooth but my words are rough. Jagged and unclean like a lost kid's razor. We stay chasing a runaway sun, taking us home to nowhere. Savior.

Going back home

These cigarettes smoke too quick and I'm gasping for a lack of oxygen like a fish flopping next to it's bowl. This autumn breeze is cutting me in half, but I don't mind.

It's smell of the dying leaves that remind me of you, and those watercolor sunsets setting on our backs. The baseball dugouts of our youth are desolate and all but forgotten by my childish heart. These reminiscent tears will not fall from the crevices of my eyes though.

It's when my nose starts to turn pink, and my fingers ache between the last few puffs of smoke, your face reemerges from the depths of my memories. Young and cheerful, mixed with uncertainty.

It's when my legs grow tired of walking, and I can feel my toes freezing inside of wet shoes. I remember sitting beside you, on a curb or a swing, with nothing to do.

And when people ask where I grew up, I say the heights, but what they don't know is I grew in the reflections of your hazed eyes.

Color me blind

Your words spill out like concrete coins. Jackpot. And I'm eagerly swallowing them whole. Like little paperweights grounding me to the present. Your honeycomb eyes burn money signs into the sun. Relentless. The stars shine the brightest in the day, and the moon smiles behind the trees. To you, goodbye is not just an idea but a lifestyle. Falling by the wayside, my stomach aches with the weight of your words smooth like jazz and thick like caramel. Incessant. My heart doesn't beat as fast as my lungs collapse and my mouth spits venom. Rifling through cluttered boxes in the back of my mind, your smile swoops in like a butterfly in May. But these memories are just rusted words now with neon lights half burnt out. The vacancy sign flashes a "NO" in front and the thought of you drives right by. And you, you speed off into a dust storm sunset. Tangling the tears of the last love in your windblown hair. Directionless.

Until we get home

I'm blacking the windows out for the last time. Laying on my bed in the middle of the yard, this house doesn't feel like home anymore. I've emptied it out in hopes of finding the solace that used to lurk. Hovering over a wine stained carpet, I feel lost. My feet stay planted while my heart is long gone and my head is in the storm clouds. The clouds that turn day into night. The kind that make every desolate moment resurface. She's working late and I'm working on my composure. My mind is running amok with thoughts to tough to think. Thoughts even tougher to evacuate. This house is not a home. Just a place to play house. This house creaks with the cries that were muffled, the wind blows through the cracks with thoughts that could only escape in soft sighs. These bones shake when you come close. Hold me anyway, just until I open my eyes. Just until we get home.

This is a Just Tangent

29 days from now, I should be waking up next to my girlfriend in a house filled with boxes and misplaced furniture. I should be able to hear silence. I should feel some sort of comfort. Right now I'm everything short of comfortable. This move cannot come sooner. I feel myself drifting off from everyone lately. I feel as if there is a sliding glass door between me and the world. I see everyone smiling, I think I can almost hear them laugh, but nothing feels connected. I've been struggling to find my footing in social situations lately, clumsily holding onto anything fixed to the ground.

I don't necessarily feel like I'm the only one doing this though. I'm watching silently, as everyone else presses on in hopes of finding composure. The people closest to me in particular.

I see you trying. I really do. But I'm not believing you as much as you think I do. I can only believe you as much as you believe yourself. It hurts watching the wheels turn behind your eyes, but there's nothing I can really tell you to make you believe this move will be good for me. Good for the whole family. But you can only believe me as much as I believe myself I suppose. Sometimes change appears to me as betrayal, which hurts because I'm only of the most loyal hearts.

And I see you, going about your days, moving around me in a silent dance. We acknowledge each other, smile and make jokes, but ultimately try our best not to look too deep into one another. I'm not sure how much this will affect you, or our relationship, but I can only hope it makes us stronger. I can't lose what I have left of you.

And you, my heart aches because of you, or for you, I'm not exactly sure which. I've written much more than this, but it's been erased and re-written until fear won.

I'm just more than ready to get on with my life, to start living again. I've been at a standstill for so long that my shoes have melted into the ground. I want to let go and enjoy what I have going right now so badly, but I don't exactly know what it is that I have going.

To be blatantly honest, I just want to feel accounted for, I want to feel like some form of effort has been put in to assure that I feel adequate. I just want to feel considered. It's not something I usually feel, and I think it's time for a refresher. I may sound incredibly selfish, and that's fine. But I think I'm just missing the idea that for one day, my happiness is someone's number one goal. I think I do that for so many other people that it's only fair. But maybe its not fair. I don't really know how to separate these things anymore. I feel love from some people, I do. I just don't exactly feel like it brings anyone joy in trying to make my day. I just want to love everyone as much as possible, and feel that love being reciprocated.

I want to laugh from the pit of my stomach. I want to eat amazing food. I want to take too many pictures. I want to drink the finest brews. I want to have so many conversations that I can't remember them all. I want to spend my time with people who appreciate these things.

I want my girlfriend to be crazy about me, even after all these years.

I want to stay up too late, and study too hard. I want to love even harder, and worry much much less. I want the satisfaction of knowing the circles under my eyes aren't for nothing. "Don't whine, Drink wine" I want to never stop writing. I want to learn how to stop thinking though.

I want my friends to never fade, even the oldest of friends.

I want to realize that my youth is still prevalent, and vital in my next couple years. I want to take advantage of the fact that after school, I will never be young again. I want to use that knowledge to my benefit, and have no regrets when I look back at who I am now.

Above everything, I want to stop wanting. I want to know that a "want" is just a small measure of time between an idea, and an action. I want life.

Head On, and Feet First

Today I spoke with my mother. I told her that the only permanence in life is constant change. That the only thing that is certain is that nothing is certain. I said I look at change in a particular way. I told her a story. I said, it was like last summer. Standing barefoot in gym shorts and a bra on the warm ebony rocks hovering over Lake Superior in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I looked out across the water, disappearing into the distance, wondering what was just beyond sight. Then I jumped. In that moment I did not know that I was plummeting 40 plus feet into just above freezing water, I just knew it was coming. That's it. I knew nothing. I knew not what to expect, I knew not how to prepare for it, I just faced it. Head on, and feet first. That's how I see change, and that's how I confront it.

Today I spoke with my mother. She too, had a story for me. She told me a story of a three year old little girl in a pink bikini climbing a 12 foot ladder. In the summer heat of '93, the blonde pony tail of that little girl bounced as she trotted to the lip of a wobbling board. Then, she jumped. My mother swears every person surrounding the mass of water below the girl gasped, and that her heart stopped for a minute. That was, until the little girl popped up from the water and swam away. Back on solid ground, all she said was "I want to do that again!" I guess I've always taken to the unknown head on, and feet first.

My mother said I was an old soul, and that I was brave. I said I'm living the only way I know how. I just close my eyes, hold my breath, and never look back. Because once in mid-air, there is no going back.

I may not be living life the right way, but then again, who knows what way that is. I said to my mother, "true knowledge exists in knowing we know nothing" -Socrates. She just smiled and agreed. I just take life head on, and feet first.

Nothing more

Guilt is one of the worst feelings I know. And whether I have anything I should feel guilty about or not, I am. And I'm sorry I'm not better.

Stacking Up

Today I was asked what I was truly scared of. The subject is irrelevant, but my answer was the most honest answer I could come up with. That is, until now. I said I was scared of losing my pride, and in a sense I am, but what I'm truly scared of is not being enough. Enough in every sense of the word. Enough of a provider, enough of a friend, enough of a partner, enough of a student, enough of a person. I am scared to walk into something not knowing what will become of me, and what I can bring forth. I am scared to be legally bound to something that scares me from the start. Don't get me wrong I am ecstatic to be moving forward, but the road itself is unfamiliar. That, I don't like. I don't like where I'm at this point in my life, but it's damn near impossible to change anything now. Even more, it's almost worthless to attempt change when in a matter of months I'll be long gone anyhow. I don't mind my job, I honestly would like to keep it. But everyone wants me to do more. I'm scared of being a let down. I'm scared I won't stack up to what it's expected of me. I'm scared to be myself. Even worse, I'm scared to admit that. I'm scared enough is never enough, and I'm scared that who I am, and my limits, fall far too short of what I and they should be. Being understood is much harder than I ever thought possible.