Young in the nights that we wish would last forever. With the strangers that carry our broken hearts, we hopelessly wear on our sleeves. We cheers to the dark nights and the magic it invokes in us. We wait for the nights to become who we really are and show our true faces to strangers. The close confides of these quarters and the drinks that never stop until we say when.
I would drink the oceans dry if it meant that a moment like this would last forever. That the bullshit emotions of the day would wash away with every drink. Here’s to the nights that felt as if life was being lived and our decaying corpses were alive. Where strangers become friends and the music never stops. Every song you couldn’t bring yourself to like becomes your favorite. The more you slur your words, the more the words of the song come alive. Word for word, line for line, and drink after drink. I feel alive. I am not who I was in the day, because it’s who I am at night that’s alive.
Time has stopped in spinning the wheel of regret and worry. Here equipped with the liquid courage we need to break free from the realities of our daily lies. I feel nothing yet feel everything in between. For the first time it felt okay to be where I am. Everything for the first time felt okay. That my mistakes lead me to where I need to be. With the people that remind me of home and the nights that would last forever. I may not know where the future leads me, but at this moment we are beautiful and young.
You learn a lot about yourself right around last call. You learn a lot about your friends right around 2 am. I wish I had a photograph for every one of those nights that I felt alive. For every night I toasted to youth, the future, and every new beginning. It didn’t matter how much you fucked up, because a drink of a liquid apology would take it all away. But after night fall comes the sobering morning. Every sobering morning comes with a moment to fall apart. I don’t feel so young anymore. Once again I am reminded that I am not going anywhere. Where am I going, where do I belong, why am I surrounded by the broken, the battered and the bruised? All we want is for someone to carry us home. Wash away the night and sleep away the days of regret and mistakes.
We are not young. No matter how many drinks we drink, we will never drink away our sorrow. How foolish to believe otherwise. But for a brief moment, we felt alive. We felt young and for a moment we were all equal in our misfortunes and mistakes. Here’s to another night of waking up and hoping for the best. Another night of drinking our problems away and finding someone to carry us 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.