Away from it all in the cover of the night again

I’m going to write something.

I don’t really know what, and I don’t really know how, but I am going to write something. Perhaps something so fantastical it breaks the very boundaries I’ve set for myself, or perhaps something so worthless that it only serves to reinforce them. I’m comfortable with both at this point, as all I really want to write is something.

It’s been a long time since I last updated. A really long time. And yet, despite all that time that’s passed, I still sit here, fingers hovering over the keyboard, with no idea what to write. The last few weeks haven’t been bad really — no, they’ve been pretty good. More than that, though, they’ve just been there. I’ve meandered through the days, smiling and laughing, feeling good, and yet most of the days I’ve lived through over the past few weeks are instantly interchangable with any other.

Where are my events? The cataclysms? The riots and floods and earthquakes that are supposed to rock our lives and send us on adventures that are fit to write about on a website such as this? The death, the dying, the suffering, the shit? The raptures and iconoclasms that rupture our very existence until we can only look to the sky and say “fuck you” through the brokedown tears?

I don’t have that.

I have my days, and they pass and pass like falling snow. And from a distance, they all look the same, but, if you look closely, I suppose every one is unique. Maybe I’m stuck in a rut; I don’t really know. And at this point, I don’t really care. It’s not a rut so much as it’s a warm embrace, and I love it, and at the same time I’m terrified of losing it.

I love that every night I fall asleep with the sky outside a dark gold. I love the summer days, where every day I can do so much, or perhaps nothing at all. I love going away on the weekends, and swimming in the lake, and going to see movies in a little theatre built inside some guy’s house. I love playing Perfect Dark with a bunch of guys until my hands feel like they’re going to fall off. I love the utter absurdity of running over Twinkies in the Sobey’s parking lot. I love the way the birds sing when I climb the stairs. I love having what I have. Where I am. Maybe it’s not where I really desire to be, but I can’t help but feeling that that place just isn’t far from here.

And so I live in my rut. Maybe I’m a fish in a bowl for not aspiring for greater things, but I’m happy, god dammit. I’m content. I have smiles, and laughter, and her.

And I won’t complain.

Matt
And stopped just as the sunset. And waited for the night. Outside a glittering building Of glittering glass and burning light…