I AM SO MAD I AM SO MAD I AM SO MAD
SOMEBODY GET ME OUT OF MY HEAD
HELP
I AM SO MAD THAT I AM LITERALLY 24 YEARS OLD AND USING MY AGE OLD TUMBLR TO RELEASE ANGER IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY BECAUSE NOBODY READS THIS THING ANYMORE
FREAKING. HELP
Have you ever stumbled into a feeling.. such a strange one, the feeling of nostalgia for another person’s past life? Not that weird witchy-reincarnation-mumbo-jumbo type of “past life”, but you know, that kind of past life that contains a lot stupid decisions, a few pretty life changing experiences that can’t be replicated, and that wild ideology of love and what it feels like when you first touch it.
Sure, I read a lot about that last part. The love part. I’ve never really read about another person feeling this type of nostalgia, though. And I’ve never really written about those feelings myself. Actually, I’ve never really sat down to make a tangible definition for this feeling, until now. And I don’t really know why I’m doing this.
I think if I keep typing I might figure it out. I really enjoy the sound the keyboard makes when I type, and the way the black line blinks on the document when I stop
like it’s patiently waiting for me to continue. Or allowing me to stop and think. I don’t know. I like writing, even when I’m writing to no one in particular, about nothing I really planned on writing.
She looked like a lot of fun. Like what the phrase “teenage dream” was coined for. Like the kind of person you talk to about even the stupidest and most pointless things, and yet somehow you still enjoy it. She looked like there was never a boring weekend, never no where to go, and the mutual desire to stay in the house occasionally. I could be so wrong. But I remember the first time I wanted to fall asleep next to someone and wake up in the same place the next morning, I was young. That feeling was an overwhelming one. That kind of excitement that has away of making itself a physical emotion. You can feel it swelling from your stomach up to your ribcage, the same way a glass of wine makes you feel when you pace yourself with it. Part of me cringes to think of you feeling that way for the first time- and the other part of me wants to know every detail of it. I imagine it so pure. Like both of you really thought it was forever, like neither of you could imagine the feeling ever disappearing, and then when it started to, I imagine you both realized it on your own terms, separately, quietly. And I imagine that it hurt, and in such an adult way for two semi-adolescent youths. You wanted to fight for it, you wanted to go back to the innocence of it. Photographing her in pretty underwear on the front porch, not thinking that someone who could make you feel so many good-feeling things in that moment could ever make you feel sad enough to pound a few rounds of beer and drown your sorrows a few trips around the sun later. If they could bottle up those years of our lives and sell them back to us, man would we be in trouble.
I wonder sometimes if there are ever fleeting moments where you pull a shirt you’ve had since high school out of your drawer and picture her in it. I wonder if there are ever things I say or wear that make your mind flashback to the mental image of a time or place with her. And then it makes me stop and wonder the same about my own life. I know, I’m just rambling at this point. But this was good. This was necessary.
“Get comfortable with being alone. It will empower you.”— Jonathan Tropper
