The roots beneath my feet
Friday again and I'm not sure what week we're in.
One year ago, I was home with big eyes and a displaced heart, trying desperately to figure out what the hell I wanted.
She was there with me, but I remember well that I wasn't there with her, choosing almost unwittingly instead to be elsewhere.
Time should have taught me by now that it doesn't matter, but my stomach still knots when the memories inevitably come floating back, like oil on the surface of my brain.
Moving on isn't as easy as I first imagined it would be. The weeks roll over each other like the ocean pulling me relentlessly towards the open future with no hope of escape. People come and go, days are good and bad, girls faces change, and it all melts into a blurred landscape that I'm not sure is even real.
I've tried finding the key to loosen this whole affair from me, without much success. I've tried the usual suspects; beer, women and drugs (no not really drugs) without relief; although perhaps relief is not the most appropriate word here - I'm not really afflicted by anything so grandiose that I'm in need of relief, but I would like to be a little more convinced that I have something to look forward to other than what I have now.
There is a girl in my life, who, despite only having known for a short time, is quite special to me, and has the promise of actually being a significant person in my life, a stark contrast to all the other girls I've spent time with this past year or so. I don't wish to jinx this or anything, its not even really that newsworthy, but I think it deserves a mention for the simple purpose of providing some perspective on the situation.
The "situation".
Ha.
My life is once again a "situation".
Perhaps this is part of the reason this has floated to the surface again, although the memories seem to work in a tidal fashion, coming and going with the regularity of a menstruating adolescent.
And they are wearing down.
Not the importance I place in them, but in the amount of pain they bring me. Now its mostly a dull recognition that I don't have what I really want, and I'm afraid that I'll never have what I really want.
Because buried at the base of my dreams lie the fairy tales and the irrepressable hope for true love, and it is from the roots that the discontent flows, seeping into every relationship I try to form.
But worry not.
Its Friday.
And that means jeans, beer and long nights, my only respite from the irrepressable thoughts that hammer me day in and day out.
Monday is two hangovers away.
One year ago, I was home with big eyes and a displaced heart, trying desperately to figure out what the hell I wanted.
She was there with me, but I remember well that I wasn't there with her, choosing almost unwittingly instead to be elsewhere.
Time should have taught me by now that it doesn't matter, but my stomach still knots when the memories inevitably come floating back, like oil on the surface of my brain.
Moving on isn't as easy as I first imagined it would be. The weeks roll over each other like the ocean pulling me relentlessly towards the open future with no hope of escape. People come and go, days are good and bad, girls faces change, and it all melts into a blurred landscape that I'm not sure is even real.
I've tried finding the key to loosen this whole affair from me, without much success. I've tried the usual suspects; beer, women and drugs (no not really drugs) without relief; although perhaps relief is not the most appropriate word here - I'm not really afflicted by anything so grandiose that I'm in need of relief, but I would like to be a little more convinced that I have something to look forward to other than what I have now.
There is a girl in my life, who, despite only having known for a short time, is quite special to me, and has the promise of actually being a significant person in my life, a stark contrast to all the other girls I've spent time with this past year or so. I don't wish to jinx this or anything, its not even really that newsworthy, but I think it deserves a mention for the simple purpose of providing some perspective on the situation.
The "situation".
Ha.
My life is once again a "situation".
Perhaps this is part of the reason this has floated to the surface again, although the memories seem to work in a tidal fashion, coming and going with the regularity of a menstruating adolescent.
And they are wearing down.
Not the importance I place in them, but in the amount of pain they bring me. Now its mostly a dull recognition that I don't have what I really want, and I'm afraid that I'll never have what I really want.
Because buried at the base of my dreams lie the fairy tales and the irrepressable hope for true love, and it is from the roots that the discontent flows, seeping into every relationship I try to form.
But worry not.
Its Friday.
And that means jeans, beer and long nights, my only respite from the irrepressable thoughts that hammer me day in and day out.
Monday is two hangovers away.
posted by Graeme at 1:18 pm
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