It was a little later in the year than it was now--I remember going outside and sitting in the grass in just my boxers and a shirt. Right below my window (referring to my house in Knoxville, Iowa) is a small garden, or at least a garden I tried to make that now consists of a few lilies and lots of weeds.
I had that feeling--you know the feeling when you've just had the most wonderful idea, and the idea makes you so happy, but at the same time your stomach is churning and tightening because you know that your wonderful idea is impossible. It's kind of what I refer to when I talk about having the mean reds.
So I had this feeling, and it had just stopped raining, so I went outside and sat in the grass. I remember it was wet and smelled fresh. I had this idea, this most wonderful idea, this genius life-altering idea--but I knew that it was impossible.
We all know the feeling. Some of us accept the impossibility, it's the logical thing to do and makes life much easier. However, something in me couldn't accept it, and I held onto the idea like a growing child holds onto a stuffed animal that they know they're getting FAR too old for, but can't seem to give it up. And the wave of possibility for this idea, the up and down and close and never, went on and on.
Today is March 8, and it's early in the morning. Of all the places to go for Spring Break, I chose to come back to my humble abode in Knoxville, Iowa. You think you've left something entirely behind (or someone...), but once you're back, and you see it (them...)... everything comes back. Sometimes it's so harsh that it's not a rush of memories as just... mush.
It's been raining. It rained the night of the sixth, drizzled the day of the seventh, and rained that night and into this morning. Then it stopped; I knew it would only be a moment before it started again, so (in my underwear and a polo, no less) I ran outside, under my window, and sat in the grass.
It's strange how much changes in two years and how much stays the same. I'm taller, my writing has become much better, I'm more worldly (or at least I like to pretend so), and I like to consider myself, overall, much more mature.
But I'm still that scared little boy, sitting in his yard after the rainfall, thinking about an idea that he knows can never happen. Maybe I'm stubborn. Maybe I think it still has a chance. Maybe I'm just plain dumb.
What I do know is that I'm back here, once again. Wishing for things that aren't and under-appreciating all of the things that are. I'd like to think that people can change. Do change. But that's really not something I can believe in.
-abashed in abercrombie
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