you clicked your heels and wished for me

I just got a Facebook message from Dan and reading that really made me miss my friends from home even more. It's always very interesting to go home and see my friends and realize how different my friendships here are from my friendships there.

Like, I'm really close to people here, and it's cool because we've gotten really close in a really short period of time. However, the fact remains that I've known my friends from home significantly longer, and I only really realize it when I go back and see them for the first time in [insert time length here]. With the kids back home--Sandy, Kaitie, Dan, Joey, Bryan, Austin--we're so comfortable with each other ... we know all there is to know about each other and it's just a very intimate setting. A lot of my friends back home are kind of touchy-feely, too, so there's a lot of hugging and poking and dogpiling and stuff like that. And it's not weird, because it doesn't mean anything other than really close friendship.

Here, there's not that much of a physical element, it's more the fact that we've been through a lot of big stuff together and since we all live together, we've all had to deal with it more than we would have to at home, you know? So it's a really close friendship, too, but just in a different way.

In completely unrelated news, I wrote one of the most depressing pieces of writing I've written in a WHILE. I was listening to Panic at the Disco's new album (which is surprisingly good, btw), and there was this melancholy song called Northern Downpour that a) I really liked and b) made me REALLY want to write. So I did. It's kind of in the vein of a lot of the stories from my old bandslash days (oh man...), because it's about two guys in a band who basically stop being friends. And it's just ... sad. But I like it. I dunno. Posting it here because I've posted a lot of writerly stuff here before:

it's sad when you know it's ending, when you know it's spiraling downwards and all you can do is watch it fall.

slow piano music and softly strumming guitars haunt your dreams, consume your thoughts. if you could set a soundtrack to your life, this would be it. the clock changes; it's 5am. you've kept yourself up again without knowing, and the morning light starts to break out over the horizon. you stand at the window with a mug of cold tea you're not really drinking, looking for something you know you won't see.

you sit back on the bed, onto the sheets wrinkled by constant tossing and turning. you're in a limbo of sorts these days, unable to go back and unable to move forward. he left and it broke your heart; you've been together through thick and thin, and now he's like sand trickling through the cracks in the woodwork. you had leaned your head into the crook of his neck as you slept on the bus, streetlights passing over you; he had come to you first when she left him, and he had tried not to cry but failed. you were the only one that had seen.

it was just like that, and everything in between meant something too-- from the dumbest practical joke to every stage you played on. and then, just like that, something changed. you're not sure when it happened, or why, but it all turned sour and all of a sudden, there was yelling, so much yelling, all the time. and then one night he grabbed his guitar and his duffel bag and stormed out the door, tossing a "fine" over his shoulder like a punctuation mark.

he hasn't been back since.