the well-worn path

i am constantly amazed at how quickly life moves. i went back to notre dame this past weekend and in a way, it was like i had never left. being there felt so normal that it became weird. i felt as though i could stroll into ryan, and our room would be exactly the same as it was a year ago. i still felt like i belonged there - but how could i not belong? i don't know how to not belong. notre dame is one of the places that has taken up residency deep in my heart, with a piece that will never go away. driving away from the dome will always hurt a little bit, like pulling off a scab that's not quite ready yet. it was good to be back, but bittersweet.

this past weekend also officially marks a year since the accident. i guess i never realized until after what an awful time that was for me...being positive sure takes a lot out of you. i'm a little amazed at how i managed to be so determined to not let it ruin my year...but i guess that force of will is something that comes only and exactly when you need it. but damn, it felt good to tread that terrain with two feet again.

you held me down in this starless city

i feel like i've created a world for myself out of my nostalgia. why is it that we can only experience things once? if you want to look at it the pessimistic way - memory is only a lie, a sad reminder that these times that made your heart swell are gone, and that every time you recall them they'll be more and more blurry, until eventually you can't remember at all?

it's enough to make anyone lay down and cry.

and yet -

why is it that a simple bass line can get inside my soul? how is it that when i hear a certain song, i'm immediately transported to my sixteen-ear-old self in the throes of selfish adolescence, or my eighteen-year-old self throwing snowflakes in the air, or my twenty-year-old self tripping on cobblestones on the streets? why is it that a simple line of poetry can make my heart clench? why is it that so many verses and lyrics and lines stop me cold and make me think that yes, yes, this is what i have been trying to say all along?

the truth is, art is what keeps us here. it is what makes this life, these shining un-relivable moments strung together like christmas lights, less of a line and more of a circle. i firmly believe that we would die withough art, without musicians, without writers. we are the lifeblood of the world. engineers and businesspeople keep the world running--but we, the artists, give it a reason to run at all. there is too much beauty in the world to ignore it.

this is what gives me hope. the artists of the world have given me something to relate to, something to hang on to, something to love. someday i hope to give that to someone else, another twenty-something year old who is grasping at straws to follow their dreams.

just a stranger on the bus tryin' to make his way home

to this day the smell of airports and ck one brings me back to those days where i almost can't believe how carefree we were.

we lived hard and we never thought twice. i ran through the streets of london in flats so fast that i got pins and needles in my feet. we drank entire bottles of wine and danced in clubs, laughing. we spent money on cover and gin and tonics and theatre tickets and overpriced sandwiches for lunch. we went to movie premieres and shrieked as we reached out and jumped for a glance at someone famous. we took trains and planes to corners of the world we'd never seen before. we broke out of our shells because for once, in this city, we could be whoever we wanted to be.

i know it's pathetic but i still miss it more than i can say.