bad one, devs
"Nostalgia is a dirty liar that insists things were better than they seemed."
i think we hit some bumps and grew apart. it is ok but sometimes i miss her because we were really really close.
"Growth is painful. Change is painful.But nothing is as painful as staying stuck somewhere you don’t belong."
In May, I Moved Back Into The Past; that makes it pretty hard to let go. Now I drive the car where I sat in the backseat with my shirt off too many times and I’m accepting it I’m accepting the drive down Cooper Rd and sometimes I don’t even turn my head
But I always look at Rachel’s house and think of my Parking Lot Poems
Think of the mornings I spent there because for some reason the mornings are the most vivid. The mornings are the most vivid because
And if we’re being honest sometimes I miss that. These days it is about as hard to get out of bed as it might be to climb a tree with no branches. There is nothing to hold on to and I am constantly slipping, scraping myself into Reality. All I have are bad dreams and I am trying hard to forget them as soon as I open my eyes.
I think I think I could still grasp Rachel because we have something in common now that we didn’t have then: Jesus. But I think I am wrong: we are in the same ocean but our waves do not collide.
It’s easier to throw away The Mirror Room because half the things I said in there aren’t worth shit now and
I thought I could do anything. I thought I was really capturing and I guess I was but it’s not worth a cent anymore. I blinked and now I’m on the outside looking in. But the weather is gorgeous out here.
The weather is gorgeous. I paint and make messes.
I miss Room 99 where I could truly pour myself and OK I miss the touching. I’m not good at hugging anyone anymore except Gavin and I’m glad I am not stretching my arms across the whole universe to hold everything everyone but at the same time I miss that sensuality, I think.
I miss theatre a lot. I miss my can of febreeze and my plastic water bottles. I miss the lines in my skin from safety pins and hems and mic cords. I miss being onstage. I miss the way my feet always hurt. Not at the heel; at the toes. Where the world happens.
I think I am disappointed. I think I am bummed out that the stage (and what went on beneath) has become irrelevant.
yes, I know I am
It is hard to let go. It is hard to let go and I am living in my basement. A few yards away there are boxes and boxes of puzzle-piece memories. I keep my gaze straight ahead when I walk past, walk quick to the laundry machines.
I want to go back to the place where I began Living again. Where I opened my eyes and saw something else. Where I stepped outside.
And the weather is beautiful out here. But all the houses are made of glass. I can see everything.
I have become boring and happy