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Take offs & Landings.

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The road leads back to you and familiar far off places. I am leaving in various directions to far off destinations. Anywhere but here, and yet every where and in between. Leaving pieces of myself in different cityscapes and landscapes. Taking with me only what I need to live and survive. Leaving on a jet plane, and who knows when I’ll be back again.

When you’re far from home, you hardly miss it. You stay trapped in the subliminal bliss of journeys that await you. A new story, a familiar place, pieces of strangers that await you on the other side. I could sit in a million seats in crowded places, but nothing compares to the life you see from the gates to terminals. The comings and goings, take offs and landings. Where are we going? Home or further from it? Far off destinations that soon lead you home. I could open my heart and give a piece of it to every person that leaves before me. Open my heart to the strangers and their journeys. Its the strangers that facisnate me. That leave to places I’ll never see, places I’ll never know. We are only the same from the terminal to the gates. Then off on to our journeys and the life that awaits. I leave my past to enjoy the present that awaits me. Familiar places with different faces. Each journey farther from home but eventually leading me home.

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Time stands still. Remembering people, remembering stories and the memories of who we are and who we were. With each trip I am learning, with each trip I am growing up. Searching for parts of myself that I didn’t think would ever exist outside the boundaries of my hometown. My hands shake in anticipation of a new adventure. I can only keep going from here. Embrace this adventure and the people I will encounter. For a brief moment in time, I am connected to these people. To the people that leave and the people that return. We are all connected to an adventure of finding things about ourselves, and growing from each and every experience. Its those strangers that I love, its those strangers that I connect to.

Miles from home, I never feel alone. Miles from home I feel a connection to this life, this illusion of living in and out of a big fat suitcase. Being on the road, I feel more connected to myself then staying in one place. Between take offs and landings is where I feel at home. Up in the sky, floating through the clouds in this never ending dreamland. If you could see me now, if you could see how I fly. If only you could understand that staying in one place, never suited me at all. But being miles away from home, and miles to go before I sleep, at this moment I feel just fine.

 

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Hometown Glory.

No matter where you go, you can always come home.

We are no longer who we say we are. We are slowly drifting further from who we were when we started. Growing up and accepting life’s responsibilities of being grown up. Different places, different faces, different times, changing us into who we are suppose to be. It doesn’t matter where we are going, but we end up further from where we started. “Don’t ever change”, you would once say. Now all I want to do is be someone else, some place else.

Running away is easy. Run to the hills where no one will find you. Run to the streets and to the oceans that will separate you from me. I’ve run to bigger cities with their ever eclipsing skyscrapers, to escape these thoughts. To escape my footsteps that stay cemented on the grounds, that have been repaved to be broken again. How big the city seems that makes me feel small, how small my hometown is that never let me grow. I can’t help but watch it all happen all over again. I am growing older but feeling the same. In the same places in different spaces. Your soul feels exposed when the light hits you just right. In a town where everyone knows your secrets and you can’t help but hide from the lies that always seem like truths. Its not where you’re going, it’s how far and fast you can leave this place. Away from familiar faces and away from the boring mundane familiarity of yesterday. If I stand still, I watch everything pass me by.

Miles from home you tend to still feel alone. You hang on to different experiences to make you different. To feel like someone else in some place else. All life is, is a bunch of experiences to make you grow up. Be different, be weird, be who you’re suppose to be. Inside you’re aware of how phony you feel. Even 300 miles from home, you still yearn to be home. Still seek comfort in the familiar that you’ve tried desperately to escape. I spent a lot of time running away from my hometown. Wishing I was somewhere else, any where but here. Even being 300 miles away, I am still wishing to be somewhere else. I am still wanting to be anywhere but here in this moment. Everyone once in a while, when the light hits just right my hometown feels like home to me.

Being home I don’t feel so alone. Even after a while people leave and go off to far off destinations. I am a plane ride away from my next adventure. Living in and out of a big fat suitcase and still I linger on. Home is just a concept to make you feel something you can’t explain. Home is another word for failure and all it’s hurtful things. Home is how I feel when ever I am here with you. For the first time all these love letters I have written to other cities seem misplaced. After all these years I search for things to remind me of you, and here I am again.

Home is not a concept in my mind. Home is my feet planted firmly on the ground. Across the cracked pavements of the streets I know by heart. Home is a house that sits empty on gravel street in my memory. Even after all these years. After all the places I’ve lived. All the places I made my home, in cities bigger than my hometown. It’s my hometown I come back to. It’s my hometown that makes being alone not feel lonely anymore. It’s in my hometown that I feel that I have something, when I lost everything in sight.

For the first time I am home, even when I have failed miserably inside. It doesn’t hurt me anymore.

 

 

 

Drive.

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I am driving blindly down streets I should remember. Streets I see clearer then the veins that scream transparency on the back of my hand. I could be anywhere, but here I stay. Stuck trying to escape this notion of reality and make believe.

Where am I going?
Anywhere, but here.

I race toward the sun in hopes to catch it. Every moment, every second. Every lasting ray of light before the darkness hits, and I am left with nothing. I see everything clearly yet watch everything disappear. This urging in my heart to race toward this everlasting light and pray for the rays to last me forever. Just a few more minutes. Something to take way the feeling of hopelessness and fill me with light. Just a little bit longer. I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know what I’m doing. Its this never ending struggle to pretend it’s okay. That being stuck in one place is fine with me. That being patient is always such a virtue. This road seems never ending. No matter how many times I try to change course, I can’t stop pretending this is where I need to be. Take the long way home, take the shortest route, go these places that are the roads most travelled. Stay safe, drive slow, and the rest will follow.

I grow tired of staying in one place. My mind is going a mile a minute and I’ve grown tired of these familiar streets and haunting surroundings. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing I need from these 4 walls that haunt me while I sleep. Its a race against time. Its a race against nothing. It’s catching feelings in moments that never truly exist. But still I steer myself toward the horizon in the right direction. This light will save me. This light will guide me home. I take blindly all the time and accounts of the nothing that exists. Take everything and push your way through. I am driving myself crazy. I am driving myself mad but the light will carry me home. Just a little while longer before the light goes. Just a little while longer before we disappear.

Its the misty lights that seem so pretty through theses skies. I know what I need to do, I just need to stop the fear from hurting. Race toward the light and watch the uncertainty disappear with each mile I retrace. This will all disappear, all go away. In one instant I’ll be home and pay no mind to my doubts and worries. Not much further I see my exit guiding me home. I don’t know where I am going but I know where this leads. Even if home is just a distant memory to me.

Inside out.

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I stare out of windows so often, I forget I am inside. Forget that I am stuck inside when the world is outside living. How lively my surroundings that screech and scream in vibrant colors. And I find myself too afraid to notice. Afraid of the world that continues to go on, day after day. The vibrant colors that beckon me to come outside, but I am too afraid to listen. Too afraid to go.

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It was the inside that allured me. The inside that called me home. The inside that kept me like an outsider, just wanting to go home. I am on the inside but I often feel like the outsider. That I am looking inside at everyone else. The sun goes from glowing to dim, and I watch light jump from building to house, through trees and even this window. The light it glows golden sparkling within the pinks and the violets of the afternoon. It beckons me. Calls out to me, to outstretch my hands to reach out and touch the sky. But still I sit, still I stay. You can call me out but I won’t play, call me out but here I stay.

I stare out windows so often I forget I am inside, but inside I stay.

8/25/2015

246.

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If I don’t write this down, I’ll never let go of it. I’ll never find my way to say the things I’ve always wanted to say. There are places that stay stitched in your memory. Vividly that you often believe that they happened just yesterday. Memories of people, places and things and how they made you feel. Its easy to misplace these thoughts and hide them deep within ourselves. But on those days when you search to remember, you find it right where you left it. Right into the depths of your soul. On the days that I don’t feel like myself, I go searching for this place. The place that made me feel the safest, that made all the nightmares disappear. It’s amazing how your mind works when you search to remember. Because its these memories that feel like they were yesterday but reality is that it were years ago.

I find myself dreaming of that house. The house with the tiny yard in the middle of the alley. I shouldn’t be looking back, I should be always looking forward. When things get bad, I find myself running toward that house in my memory. To the gravel road and the broken fences. Back to the home that always felt so large in stature. Large in wonderment and memory. The more I think about it, the more the memories rush toward me. The light that harbors inside every corner of that house, that opened up parts of myself I often forget. I was never this negative. I was never truly this heartbroken. Once upon a time, I stretched my arms out as far as they could reach and span around in circles to dream.  I felt dreams, aspirations, and believed that everything was possible. I wasn’t afraid to dream and these days I am afraid of everything. When it hurts to move on, I think of that house. That little gray house that stands in the middle of the alley. Because no matter where I go, I look toward that house to come home. Because to me, after all these years it feels like home.

It’s taken me so long to realize this but this house doesn’t feel like home. I hold my items in a house that feels fragile to the touch. We hide ourselves in rooms in the darkest corners of this house. We hide ourselves from the world, when everything used to be so out in the open. We occupy our time with being people we never intended to be. I can’t help but feel alone, feeling we lost something the moment we moved. Maybe its just me. Maybe I am the crazy one that puts too much emotion into stationary things. But some nights, I still dream that I am back there. At that little house that always felt so large in stature. That little house that always felt so open with life. That little house that felt like home to me. I’ve moved and lived in so many places. Big to biggest cities but no where feels like home. Most nights I don’t remember where I am. Most nights I dream I am somewhere else and waking up some place else. Because the point of growing up is finding where you fit in, in the world. Finding out where is home to you and where you belong.

Nothing feels like home anymore. My body is just placed in different places but none of them feel like home. Because home was where I once felt I had a family. Where I once felt like I had everything. Where my dreams were bigger than my body. I miss that. I miss outstretching my arms to the sky and spinning around in circles. I miss the feelings that went away as soon as I got older and started to forget. Its so easy to forget where you came from. To forget what brought you to the places that you’re at right at this moment. Its not that I want to forget, it just hurts too much to remember that once I was happy. Once I cared so much and believed I could be anything. Now I just feel numb, that this place doesn’t feel like me. Even though my blood, sweat, and tears formed this house, my heart never belonged here.

Never said goodbye to the house, as I should have done years ago. I never reached out my arms to the walls and said everything I wanted to say. In dreams I go back and whisper everything I feel at the moment. I tell all my secrets in dreams and forget I have to wake up eventually. I haunt myself with memories that don’t exist anymore. Looking to the past when I should be looking toward the future. But when my heart is hurting and my mind is blank, I go searching for this place. This vacant place that doesn’t exist anymore. Its been so long since I’ve been back that being face to face with it, doesn’t hold the same emotion as it once did. But once upon a time, I felt love in this house. For the longest time this was home to me. Now I have to find where I belong.

Where do I belong.

11/9/2005

The Oregon Trail.

When you embark on a journey, you always set out to find yourself. In your wonderland expectations of personality and living. You run to the highest mountains and sink in the deepest seas. Crave the adventure of new experiences and wish for completely new beginnings. When I packed my bags, I wished it was for forever. I wished that I could be a lost soul and roam the coast until I found myself again. That I could run away to the mountains and be lost amongst the greenery settings. All the years I hid behind the shadows, I never realized how much I missed the sun.

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There is a picturesque magic of the western coast. Something people seldom see. Sometimes even we that reside on the west coast, become so jaded by our own thoughts that we forget how beautiful we have it. If I could photograph every line of the journey, I would. Even photographs wouldn’t do it justice. The magic of the greens from the trees, the beauty of the waters so clear, and how the air just fills your lungs with this joyous pure emotion. If this was forever, I would take it. Take every last bite of this green earth and return to the trails of Oregon. I am living in a dream and only reality could bring me down to earth.

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I spent a lifetime hiding in the shadows of my misery, missing opportunities of the sun. The roads that lead to nowhere seem to guide you home. Most days, I don’t even know where home is. Home is a combination of here to there and a little bit of everywhere. Passenger seats and confessing my deepest hopes to the dashboard of road companions. Where do we go from here? To the deep blue seas and the frigid waters of the lakes hidden in the trees. To the people that make you feel alive and the strangers that hit you with the reality of coming home. I am never ready to go home. Never ready to even entertain the idea of returning back to reality. All I could ever want is to hide amongst the trees and lose myself in the picturesque scenery.

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The greener the city, the prettier the sunset. Seeing stars for the first time with clear eyes, that have been lost amongst the concrete buildings. At any minute this would be over and I will run back home. Home seems like a distant memory and some days, I am afraid to go home. Afraid of conforming to everyone else’s standards. Afraid of being stuck under the same four walls of my insecurities. The journey is almost over and through the smiling and the laughter, I feel home. Something I haven’t felt in the years of journeys of my youth. Something that was always lost in the translation. It doesn’t matter how far I go in my lifetime, I am always going to go home. Even if most days, home is just a distant memory.

One day I’ll return to the cities too beautiful to explain with words. One day I will find a way to leave home and find out where I really belong. Until that moment I regroup and return to my same four walls, to plan my next escape. All life is just another chance to escape, and one day I won’t come home. I’ll find my way back to you, I’ll find where I belong.

One day.

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Home?

When you move home after years of being on your own, its a hard adjustment. Living with family is different then living with strangers, either way you forget who you are. When you’re on your own, you’re a different person. You can be yourself and your only responsibility is to yourself. It’s hard to come home and regain that life you had before. You’ve been places, you’ve seen things, and no matter where you have been, home is suppose to be home. You lose your independence when your only sense of privacy is the four walls of your own room. I could tell myself this is home until I am blue in the face but this isn’t home. I can’t help but feel like a stranger passing though. When you’ve been on your own it’s a hard realization that this is reality. This is what happens when you make false moves and fail miserably. You answered to no one on your own and now you’re answering millions of questions that fall upon deaf ears.

This isn’t a home. It’s just a place I make my bed just as I had done with the rest of my mistakes. This isn’t my house when I lost the sense of comfort in my own misery. The longer I shut the blinds to shield myself from the sun, the longer I continue into this darkness. This sense of failure that looms over me. I find myself laying awake at night, trying to focus on the ceiling. Where did I go wrong? What is the purpose of this existence, if all I do is fail and come home? All of my belongings are nostalgic memories of the past I no longer want. Accumulating mountains of bullshit currency in these belongings I no longer need. I just want to get rid of everything. Every last bit of these failed memories and feel like this is a home. I know it will never happen and I know that deep down letting everything go would only bring forth the madness within.

I’ve driven past every memory of this hometown. Driven past the reminders of the past and the stories that come with them. Every street, every street light, everything. This doesn’t feel like home to me. While I have been raised here, it’s not home to me. Life was different when I was on my own and alone. Not I am just alone and filled with everyone expectations of what my life should be. When can I go home? Where is my home? I could pick up the pieces and start again but the dark cloud always looms over me. Give it a moment before it starts to fall apart again and back to packing our bags and moving vans.

I need to leave this town to feel better. I need to get back on my feet and find my home again. Its hard to adjust once the comfort of home comes over you. Is this comfort or is this settling? Beats me. I just want to find that place that belongs to me where I feel at home. But where is home? If it’s not here, then where.

Where do I belong.

7/14/2010