The stars seems so far away. I feel like I’ve lost something incredible, but I couldn’t begin to distinguish what it is. I’m surviving, but surviving is no life at all if you ask me. But, if winning the war is just staying in battle, then I suppose I haven’t failed completely.
I think I’m nicer now, which is ironic because I feel like so much more is mean around me. Don’t get me wrong, though, there are really nice things about this place, but it hasn’t been easy living here; bad things have happened and sometimes I look at myself and think that Seattle has taken away more than its given. I haven’t really digested much of it. I’ve been living for the weekend and putting everything aside until then. But, I’m nineteen. It’s been almost a year since I graduated, and that’s a very long time. I must be affected somehow.
I want to “go back east”, but it’s not going back if you’ve never been there. It reminds of how I haven’t really moved that much in my life. I was born in Bend, Oregon and it wasn’t long before my family moved to Federal Way, WA. I slept in a small room in my Grandparent’s house. I waited for a lot of things as a child. I waited for my mom to come back from night school each night. I waited for my dad to come home from work. I waited for my brother to become coherent. Things used to be a lot different. And, if I were small again, I would look forward and say that so much ended up changing. I quit skateboarding, I quit having friends, I quit caring about what others thought about me, and I started living the way I wanted to. I went to college and stayed somewhat local even though it seemed that I had flew to another planet. I pretended to study important things like literature, history, and science, and learned that waiting on something can be the most liberating experience of one’s life.
But, here I am waiting for something to meet me in the dark. Some things wait for me. I’ve got notebooks that wait, books on my fragile shelf that dream of being opened, stacks of canvases wait next to my window for color, a tiny bible six years young that waits patiently for me to underline its truth, expired film that sits in my cabinet waiting to be developed and remembered. These things remind me of hopes I’ve had, dreams I still dream, a future I thought was due to manifest itself on this date, and yet I’m still waiting. But, the truth is that I don’t want to lay awake for one more second and wait for something I dream of every night.
I used to have a beautiful balloon that tied me to the sky. I remember looking up past the tree line to see it swaying in the afternoon breeze. I fell in love with it in that moment. One day I came back from school, and was in a very sad mood. These guys stole my lunch and said I was much too small for my age. My balloon looked down at me and said, “Screw you world.” Again, I fell in love with it in that moment. But, it wasn’t double knotted to my wrist, and it passed on one sunday morning. I remember it, though. It was red, my favorite color. It helped me walk when I was tired. It even made my legs run when the wind was excited. It healed my wrists and told me not to worry about tomorrow because it was already there. That balloon was special like that. But, is it possible to fall in love with a balloon? I don’t have to wait to find out. I dream of that every night.