Aug 8, 2011

Me & Wanting to be a Ghost


Around 365 days ago I wanted to be a ghost.
I wanted to turn into mist. To leave the small dirt encased town I had been merely surviving in and putting up with for so long and disappear to a big, nameless, anonymous city so I too could become nameless and anonymous.
I wanted to slip out of people's consciousness and stop existing in the present tense. I violently needed to abandon everyone and everything, because I felt like I had already been abandoned. I only needed geography to catch up to me.
When the time came I packed my small, retched life into big boxes and left. For good, I said. It was a grey day when I spit on the place that had so many times spit on me and took off without any apologies or goodbyes or explanations or reasons. As I watched that shack of a house, my prison, disappear behind me, the relief of being gone forever washed over me, but didn't mask the resent I still had deep inside.

But even the best laid plans do not always work, and I did not entirely become the shadow that I thought I so desperately wanted to be.

And I'm kind of happy about that.

I'm happy because it's exhausting to hate an entire place. So instead, over the course of 365 days, my hate boiled down to just one individual.

I'm happy because I figured out that growing up doesn't always mean blowing away. And even if it does, there's always a train back to where you started.

I'm happy because instead of feeling chained by my past, I feel reassured. There's something peaceful about knowing that everything that has happened can not be undone, for better or worse.

I'm happy because the people I still talk to and see from back home are my friends, so it is easy to forgive. I'm happy because despite my slight departure from life, we are still friends. And we are young, which is something I've missed feeling. I've missed singing at the top of my lungs and sticking my head out of sun roofs and remembering old times and dancing terribly and laughing too hard and living with the people who have shaped me the most.

So yes, I am happy. Which, in the end, is what I actually wanted. I just didn't know how to get there.

Aug 3, 2011

Him.


( It's so hard to write about him without feeling cliche and cheesy and ridiculous and idiotic. But I'm going to try anyways. It's not very original, it's not very clever, but it's something. )










I love him.
I love him when he's just waking up. When the grey morning light creeps in and pokes at his un-spectacled eyes.
I love him when he's about to fall asleep. When I can feel his wonderful body slowing down, and giving in to dreaming.
I love him when he's standing next to me, making perfect omelettes for un-perfect little me.
I love him when he's sitting across from me at a tacky restaurant on the side of the highway.
I love him when we skate along the canal at 11 at night.
I love him when we walk through the camp grounds at 5 in the morning.
I love him when he wears his leather jacket in the winter.
I love him when he wears his jorts in the summer.
I love him in 140 characters.
I love him in 10 page letters.
I love him when we drink coffee together in over priced cafes.
I love him when we drink beer together beside impromptu fires.
I love him when we're holding hands.
I love him when we're wrestling.
I love him in Ontario.
I love him in Saskatchewan.
I love him when he whispers into my ear.
I love him when he screams into a microphone.
I love him when we're watching foreign films in an old movie theatre.
I love him when we're watching 1990's spiderman in his dorm room.
I love him in his purple saturn.
I love him in a white and red bus.
I loved him yesterday.
I love him today.
And I'll love him again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow....