Conjoined At The Tongue
Just going through the motions - every day just a checklist for daily activity. The holidays are sneaking up on me; I haven't really had the time to notice the time of day let alone the time of year. Don't get me wrong, I'm not unprepared. I'm actually probably the most prepared person in my entire family - all gifts accounted for, wrapped, placed under the tree - nothing more to worry about. School ends early Wednesday for me (the break really doesn't seem like that big of a deal for me - I barely go to school any day). So, happy holidays and all that tinsel.
I hope to see a letter from her before the week is out. I miss her.
Nights of camouflage, Amazon princesses, and far too much foam core. A few good laughs - "Well, it isn't looking good on the Backwoods...which sucks" - and innumerous good times leads me to not want nights with friends to end. The Faint, victory or defeat, and endless Friday nights. Each night uncovering another buried treasure. Every single night a hunt for the end of the ocean.
Does it feel like we're all going through the motions? Why is it only the late hours of too few nights that allow us to run wild and free of routine? I guess I'm lucky though; not everyone can appreciate those moments...they can't see, so they just pass them by. I'm suffocating every moment with my clinging grasp; I'm draining every memory of all sincerity to preserve them like flowers pressed between the pages of a book. I hope these memories seem as important and fragile to everyone else as they do to me. I mean, we all hate our "shithole high school lives". We all hate the senselessness. We all hate this town, right...? I think that's just the easy way of saying we couldn't live without it...I mean, life moves on, but life would've been a lot different if we hadn't lived through all the things we supposedly 'hate'. I am thankful for this social thirst - searching for an oasis to quench my dreams. I am thankful for every friend turned enemy, or vice versa - who would I be if I hadn't learned from these changes? Ahh, existentialism overwhelms. The questions never cease.
If I'm playing my fate like Candyland, hopefully the next few steps of green, red, and blue will lead me to the finish. Maybe the next step will be with her. Maybe a few more letters sent will unravel more than I can understand. In related, maybe a few phone calls gone ignored will teach me. Maybe they'll be worth picking up someday. Maybe the fate of each step - each day-glo colored square - is worth it in the end. Let's stop striving for anything less than perfection. We know we'll never reach it...but maybe that's the whole point. Maybe the perfection is there all along, but we are unable to understand it. Maybe the perfection is following our fate, or our defects, or our insecurities. Maybe perfection is the inadvertent rules of chaos, discord, and randomness.
So, you step this way, and I'll roll the dice. We'll exchange nervous looks like a seventh grade summer, and we'll hold our hands together in handcuffs forged by rules of completion. We'll be screaming to each other to find a way out. A three. A six. Each step taken forward or backward just as frustrating as the last. A one. Miss a turn. Luck and nothing more. We'll hold our hearts like helium balloons, and conjoin at the tongue to speak in languages never even heard of. We'll be perfection within every single one of our flaws. We will glow.
I hope to see a letter from her before the week is out. I miss her.
Nights of camouflage, Amazon princesses, and far too much foam core. A few good laughs - "Well, it isn't looking good on the Backwoods...which sucks" - and innumerous good times leads me to not want nights with friends to end. The Faint, victory or defeat, and endless Friday nights. Each night uncovering another buried treasure. Every single night a hunt for the end of the ocean.
Does it feel like we're all going through the motions? Why is it only the late hours of too few nights that allow us to run wild and free of routine? I guess I'm lucky though; not everyone can appreciate those moments...they can't see, so they just pass them by. I'm suffocating every moment with my clinging grasp; I'm draining every memory of all sincerity to preserve them like flowers pressed between the pages of a book. I hope these memories seem as important and fragile to everyone else as they do to me. I mean, we all hate our "shithole high school lives". We all hate the senselessness. We all hate this town, right...? I think that's just the easy way of saying we couldn't live without it...I mean, life moves on, but life would've been a lot different if we hadn't lived through all the things we supposedly 'hate'. I am thankful for this social thirst - searching for an oasis to quench my dreams. I am thankful for every friend turned enemy, or vice versa - who would I be if I hadn't learned from these changes? Ahh, existentialism overwhelms. The questions never cease.
If I'm playing my fate like Candyland, hopefully the next few steps of green, red, and blue will lead me to the finish. Maybe the next step will be with her. Maybe a few more letters sent will unravel more than I can understand. In related, maybe a few phone calls gone ignored will teach me. Maybe they'll be worth picking up someday. Maybe the fate of each step - each day-glo colored square - is worth it in the end. Let's stop striving for anything less than perfection. We know we'll never reach it...but maybe that's the whole point. Maybe the perfection is there all along, but we are unable to understand it. Maybe the perfection is following our fate, or our defects, or our insecurities. Maybe perfection is the inadvertent rules of chaos, discord, and randomness.
So, you step this way, and I'll roll the dice. We'll exchange nervous looks like a seventh grade summer, and we'll hold our hands together in handcuffs forged by rules of completion. We'll be screaming to each other to find a way out. A three. A six. Each step taken forward or backward just as frustrating as the last. A one. Miss a turn. Luck and nothing more. We'll hold our hearts like helium balloons, and conjoin at the tongue to speak in languages never even heard of. We'll be perfection within every single one of our flaws. We will glow.
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