If I could live in a feeling, I would live in what comes to me late at night, when the darkness and loneliness in my head starts to make way for nostalgia and faux memories. Laminated wood, musty unfinished basements, and a promise to be quiet. It's always the obscure with me. The second or third sentence of every writing, some random statement of places or object or colors, followed by vague self reflection that never gets taken to heart. I'm lost in my mind and can't find a way out of the maze that lies within. A different location won't change the same outcome. When has it ever? A mask and a sand bag to anchor my heart, both equally broken. I'm hanging on to childhood memories from a time that doesn't exist. And I can't describe the feelings or things that cause a weird sense of nostalgia without sounding like a pompous dick. I came to a fork in the road but went straight, dismissing all responsibility and getting mad at the consequences. I still get the same thoughts at night that I did when I was innocent and blind. I still know this isn't real, and I still know that nobody is sincere. I still imagine the world to be the same but in four different colored filters. I still doubt that the end is really the end. While I don't know what happens after our so-called end, I have a few hippie theories. For example, starting over again, slightly different than last time. Whether it be the year, the surrounding, the handicap, something. Perhaps I will get to live in the innocence again. Maybe another life, in a different world. Or, maybe this is the other life in a different world. Maybe to wake us to dream and to dream is to live. I still feel oddly connected to characters I made at young ages. No names, just faces and colors and personalities. But maybe even they were kind only with a motive. 10:30 p.m. in a small but loud Pennsylvania town, and not a star in the light-polluted sky. Even my thoughts aren't safe to be in anymore. The bench I sat on is cracked, and the valley is on fire. What was a scenic overlook is the entrance to hell. But, given it used to be a beast in a cell, it makes sense. There's no end in sight in the cycle I created. There's not enough water to end the fires.
