May 10, 2012
Have you ever felt like things were so perfect that they couldn’t possibly be happening to you, like you’ve stepped away from yourself for a moment and you’re watching it happen to someone else, like a flawlessly played out scene of a some movie, and you’re almost jealous of whoever it’s happening to, and then you remember it’s real and it’s you and you’re happy all over again. This happens all too often with you.
May 6, 2012
When things like trying to get home as late as possible and finding ways to find more time and everything not being completely perfect when I’m with you are my biggest problems, then I figure things are pretty damn good and I’m real lucky and it’s all your fault.
May 5, 2012
With each decision, it’s felt more and more like I’ve been getting closer to the very edge of something. And I’ve been thinking too much and turning around and taking second looks at everything. These places, these identical days, these people. The only thing I used to be sure about was leaving. There wasn’t much thought put into it, I guess. There wasn’t thought put into the miles or the look on my dad’s face or the roots that may have grown. There wasn’t anything keeping me here. And now, I don’t know. It’s a lot harder to leave when you’ve found reasons to stay. And I know it’s wrong to let these reasons sway me, I know I want to be somewhere entirely new, when this house is all I’ve ever known. But shit, these decisions have never scared me like this before. The distance wasn’t really miles until it I realized it was home that I was leaving and I’m too close to the edge now and about to lose everything I know, and I’m just hoping these decisions were the right ones.
May 1, 2012
Something I wrote, in December, before.
I’m afraid if I keep doing this in cars by lakes and under stars and in parks, I’m afraid if I keep trying to find something right in all the wrong people, it won’t feel like anything if it ever is right. I’m afraid I won’t ever feel whatever it is that people always talk about, that it will always feel like this. I remember when kisses made me come home and close my bedroom door, so I could replay every detail and hide my smiling. I remember when holding hands was something else. Now nothing means anything, not to me, not to him. It’s just another goodnight.
April 27, 2012
Woodsmoke and cold air and having something of my own and holding your hand in the backseat trying to keep quiet, and the things you said. I swear, every time with you is something more than I deserve. I didn’t know this really happened to people.
