There was something in the air last night that was different. Lingering high above our heads were ambitions and long-forgotten dreams. He has grown into his own skin, much like I am growing into my own. We wrote down our goals for the next 525,600 minutes. Mine sounded ambitious yet realistic. Perhaps I am growing up, staying more tethered to the ground.
Later, a ghost who was never insubstantial and I analyzed song lyrics. It felt like being twenty again, the ultimate importance of an alternative rock song. When he explained that the one song reminded him to move on so she could move forward, there was a subtext I struggled to ignore.
Time changes us all, but right now, I feel closer to returning to the comfort of my own skin. Yesterday, I was nostalgic and paused over memories without stumbling over them. But despite that, you know me to be a klutz, and I still trip anyhow.
He disappeared without any fanfare, but I need the explanation that his cryptic lips will never bother to give until loosened up by whiskey or rum. I haven’t seen him in months but still remember.
When my friend returned from Japan, I was amazed at his growth and maturity of character. It seems to me sometimes I am the heroine tied up and tied to the railroad tracks. I sometimes feel stunted in my own progress, impeded by my own stubbornness. This time, however, I am willing to see how far I’ve come.
Every setback is part of the journey. Every stumble is another marker. You may think it one thing, but perhaps it is merely a symbol. A representation. These are the questions that riddle me like bullet holes.