late nights and loud fights
it's all just a blur

8:52 p.m. | 2005-02-20
Christ, If Only I had Been Able to Know the End First

Recently it seems like I�m living in a movie. I keep watching myself from the outside, my headphones tucked tight to my ears. I�ll be doing something and I�ll just hear the perfect soundtrack. Those songs which should be popular (and soon will be) but just compliment that moment so much.

Terribly romantic Stephen Kellog songs animate my face, Ben Gibbard sends me to thoughtful and beautiful places, and Colin Hay almost brings me to tears.

My mind won�t stand still. I worry about filling every moment. And like usual, I�m in angst over a morphing life plan. You know how some people dream of being something all their lives? They get side tracked, but at one point they were sure. They picked out colleges based on it. They planned the beginning of their lives on it. I never was sure of myself to pick a career.

And all of these scenes from movies I keep living; they�re so pretty. Sad, but pretty. It amazes me how much we romanticize places we haven�t seen in a while. Sometimes our expectations are met. When I came back from Boston last year I remembered the parks in full bloom and because I came back in May everyday was bursting with sun and my hometown was just so beautiful. I watched fall come this year and as it passed, I was shocked. Dirty roads, dead trees, melting sloppy snow�all of this average, I just refused to remember it.

Boston, even in the melting snow is beautiful. But my love for that place is in question. Going back there I was expected to jump back into the same ruts, order from the same place, spend my evenings doing the same things, laughing with the same people. What if I�m too different for that now?

I went away. I left. I �regressed� as some say. Why, then, when I went back were things the exact same? People�s voices no different. People�s habits nothing new. People�s loves all the same. I went back home, to Colorado, to a place that most wouldn�t refer to as a �home.� I didn�t go back and have my mommy making me dinner and doing my laundry. I went home to pay my own bills and grow up.

Had I been the same person I used to be walking back into the situation in Boston would have been so comfortable. Because nothing has changed. Except me.

I went back to Boston to find the trees where I�d left them, the buildings where I�d placed them, the roads where I lay them. But then I saw his eyes. They screamed something new, something desperate. Some new-found sensitivity mixed with an older man�s wisdom. I had heard his heart break. I had heard his pain. I had heard his laughter. But I hadn�t seen his eyes in ten months.

He�s changed too.

Maybe that�s what they mean about it all coming around some day. Maybe they�re talking about those who deserve things will get them simply because they have the skills to.

I just--I need to figure out where I�m going.

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