The sky's stayed white almost all summer. There are no clouds and there is no atmosphere. There is nothing beyond what I can see and there is nothing outside of my existence. It's all a white, cardboard cut-out hanging around behind every feature of every street. A green screen that remains the same, day in and day out. The houses look the same as they always did, but the line between horizon and sky looks false and surreal. I'm waiting for giant fingers to come and remove the big white sheet from behind of my small little world so things begin to open up and freshen once again. The flowers are out and the garden's full of life and everybody's moving and living and thinking and breathing, but everything feels so stuck and stagnant behind this impermeable white light. It's put me in a funny mood where I don't know what music to listen to and what to play on my good old acoustic. I don't know where I want to be or who I want to be with or what I want to wear or what to write or draw or paint or where to drive to or when to go and when to come home. I still see the stars at night, sometimes, and it never really feels as dark as it truly should. The black of night's been replaced with a navy blue sky, lined with a royal blue horizon that leads to that great white light yet again.
A lot of things have gone sour this year. And by a lot, I mean a lot. I'm glad that I've grown and matured to being more than the suicidal seventeen year old because I don't think I would've been able to handle the things that this year's done to me right then. I'm hopeful for things to come, you know, hopeful that things will get better and that things will change in a subtle way, enough for progress, but not enough for heartache.
I think I've been very vague in every relationship I've been involved in this year - from my family, to my friends to strangers to those that care and those that couldn't care much less. I want to feel passionate about a conversation that I'm having or passionate about a place I'm going or where I've been. I want to feel passionate about my friends, not a slow, seething sort of sour that comes from my animosity towards this situation.
This too will pass, I know. I'm beginning to have more faith in the fact that things will inevitably somehow work out because we are survivors of our own tragedies, we are flesh and bone and blood and tiny molecules that dance around inside ourselves, and we are made to live. Nothing more, and nothing less. We are made to live.