Somethings gotta give. It seems like it's getting more difficult to fall asleep every night. I'm sitting here on my baby blue sheets with my stained pillow cases reading one of my best friend's set of poems, again. I cry. Again. Guys don't cry. Maybe that's my problem. Maybe that's what's holding me back. I don't think I stopped crying through the the entirety of UP. And I realize while reading these that I wish I had this ability. The ability to project my mind onto a page while invoking the emotion into others that goes with each of my own feelings. I am not an artist. I cannot painting nor music nor poem. I can spreadsheet and headshot. I am not a contributor to the world. I cannot even write uplifting blog posts. I have a fucking blog that serves no purpose other than to vent my inner frustrations and relive them month after month.
The author of these poems once proclaimed to have been made "A bitter, old man by the carefree and beautiful." He also has told me that this past year has had the same affect on me. Maybe this past year has had that affect on me, but I can feel my old high school mindset coming back to me. It's finally time to move on. The same views I had of relationships prior to college are returning. The same happy innocence that tears me up because I know I'm not everyone. The same wishful thinking of achieving those that are unobtainable. One of these days, motherfucker.
I have learned quite a bit from my experience in college. Much about others, but more about myself. I may not be exactly who I thought I was, but it's only because I'm better than that. Which is kind of awesome. But I'm not here to make everyone's life better either. And that's the real trick. And even if my writing is choppy and doesn't make a whole lot of sense. And even if I start sentences with And. I am who I am.
And I do not regret.
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