Look at that, I listen to poppy things sometimes. I’m human.
I spent my last week @ uni in a fever. And that’s not a nice little simile to describe the ‘beginnings and ends of things’ or whatever. I was sick. Sick in that way where the blankets tend to suffocate and close you in with your own cold and heat. I had a bunch of crap I was meaning to sell and couldn’t. I guess the next tenant can enjoy my dumbbells and get all those mad gainz.
I feel nothing leaving this place behind. I don’t even feel anything about graduating. I’m proud that I’ve worked hard and that there’s been this massive change in my work ethic – going from barely finishing high school to getting a first-class honors. I think I’m less romanticizing than I used to be? Maybe I leave that kind of stuff into poetry and writing now instead? That must be it. I know for certain, however, that over these last few years I’ve pretty much done everything I used fear. So much so, that the boy that I used to be seems like a far cry now. What’s that Frank Stanford poem? The one that goes a bit like this:
I remember the work in himLike bitterness in persimmons before a frost.And I imagine the way he had fear,The ground turning dark in a rain.Now he gets up.And I dream he looks down in my eyesAnd watches me die.
Careful about letting poets lie to you, though.
Anyway, there’s been a lot of… change. I asked a friend and she said I’ve turned into someone more confident and brave, but that I also trust people less and that I’m more… lonely.
She’s right, of course. And whilst that l-word sounds scary, it really isn’t. Think of it as… being comfortable. Or, as a fantastic, epic battle where a social life and solitude fight and scream, turn into bears and eagles, create tax havens in far off islands and run porches off of cliffs.
It’s not easy, finding that balance. At least it isn’t for me. I like being alone, but… there are a bunch of ‘I’s in there, and they don’t all agree with me. Sometimes being alone can hurt just as much as it can bring you joy. It’s just one of few things we all have to keep working on, right?
My poetry collection got some very, very positive feedback so I’ve started to take aim towards an actual, finished manuscript. Something I could sell. And there’s more stuff to do over the summer. There always is. Back home. On the island. Alone. Or with people :]
And after that… I think I’m ready to give London a second chance. Hearts are made to be broken, after all.
I fucking hate pubs though.