Paradox.

Honestly, I'm not ready to leave.

I've had nothing but fun ever since I got here, and its these occasional trips down south that remind me just how important family is.

I'll be back when I'm back. Nothing definite yet, and I've become to accustomed to living life without a schedule. If there's one thing that I'm looking forward to back home, it's Saturday.

Yet there are still certain aspects of my everyday experiences that beckons me back home, and more importantly, to the way I used to live. My life has become nothing more than an intriguing duality; one void is filled while another grows larger, one glass is filled while the other is emptied.

It's crystal clear that yesterday is gone, and today will be going away with it soon enough. There is only the future, and now more than ever, I have been living on a day-to-day basis, taking things as they come. Make no mistake, the empty bottles that have accumulated throughout the past four days are a result of spontaneity, not desperation and necessity.

There are times when I think back, times when I think of the way things used to be, but I've found the strength not to dwell, or at least so far I have. I suppose you can say that I've run out of tears to cry and people to yell at. I spoke with a friend a few nights ago regarding the lack of inspirational sources in my life as of late, but now I see that inspiration to be found in everything.

You gave me so much, so many of the things I needed in order to realize my dreams. You gave me friendship, compassion, generosity, and a heart of gold. However, it was only in leaving me that you gave me what I needed the most: a reason for my actions. You have given me ecstasy that has enamored me and spite which has enraged me, given me a bond to be proud of and a downfall to open up my eyes to it all.

The tools have been placed in my hands, thanks to you (and my father). I've already begun to write, to dance, to sing, to play, to push and to shove and to laugh and to love, and there is only room to grow from here on out. My notebook is slowly, gradually becoming filled, it's pages tattooed with words and lines locked in an endless waltz, merging into one just before it all comes out. It is only through this...incredible, miraculous form of art that I have been able to fully express myself and convey what lurks in the deepest trenches of my soul.


It is only through this that I am whole again.