Trust Issues.

Look at this monster you made; now I'm the one that has to kill it.

for the thrill of it

And not two minutes after clicking "publish post", my mind begins to scramble, frantically searching for something to counter my previous entry, a little something to balance out this young-and-fast lifestyle that I've been living; for as fun as its been, there are times when a man has to know his limits. There are problems that alcohol cannot wash away, cuts and scars that even the strongest herbs cannot heal. I may appear to be a little strung out on compliments; to that, I'd say that a little confidence never hurts. We party hard, there's no denying that; but what better way to acknowledge your accomplishments than by drinking to them? And I may hit the club every now and then - but rest assured, one night of fun only goes so far. This ride isn't over, but nor will it last forever. One day we'll be doing 95 in the coupe cruising down these empty streets, and the next day I'll be cruisin' solo, taking my sweet time, enjoying the scenic route as I cruise down memory late, waving goodbye to "Ms. Right Now"'s place in my rear-view mirror and taking the nearest exit for "Ms. Right"'s house. And I say "the nearest exit" because, well, I can't lie: I'm pretty impatient at times. But I've also learned that flooring it is never ever ever a good idea, and until I get there, its nothing but me, my car, the road, and these sweet, sweet dreams.




Baby, I'm not tired of the chase. I just need someone who'll chase back.

southern comfort

It's only been three months since this new way of living has crept into my world, but it feels as if its been much longer than that. I cannot even begin to sort out all of the foreign luxuries and features that come with this state of being and somehow paste them together into anything that even remotely resembles a rational thought, because that's just how crazy this whole ride has been. Sleeping at the crack of dawn. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, cracking the door open ever-so-slowly as to not make it creak. Late-night runs to fast food establishments that would otherwise never be visited if it weren't for the fact that they're open until the wee hours of the morning. Long-awaited trips to the beach, the sunset streaking across the sky, the horizon and the windshield of our car becoming one with each other. Spontaneous outings, literally planned an hour or two before taking place, just packing up the bags and throwing them into the car, our blood pumping as we seek adventure and companionship. Good food, better drinks, the best sex that we never had. Laying down on a tiled garage floor, intoxicated to all hell and back, drowning these sorrows away with drinks that both poison and remedy our souls. Yet deep down, we know it has to end. My eyes speak to me and tell me so each time I look at myself in the mirror. Wouldn't it be nice if we could just forget the other side of things? And to think, I could have had it all.



But this ride isn't over, yet.