The more time passes and I’m in this place, the more restless I get.
Some days it’s easier to ignore with the loudness of everyday life overbearing it.
And some days it’s not.
And on those days, like today, I think about where I would go.
Would I find myself writing the same words, restless enough to leave another place?
Or would I find comfort in the simplicity?
I write this now thinking that it’d be easier that way but a part of me doesn’t believe it’s true.
How will I ever be satisfied anywhere with a mentality like this?
For some reason I think about that old town I once stayed.
Yes, I did the same things over and over but the poetry was so loud.
Here, everything talks over the other that it’s hard to hear. I can’t remember the last time I heard silence.
I wasn’t meant for this life I now realize.
And I wasn’t meant for a small town either.
I like the idea of moving from place to place, staying over here for a little and going over there for little;
Meeting people and learning their names, hanging out once or twice and then moving on to the next town over where you’ll eventually learn their names and they’ll learn yours.
And then you do it again.
Tiring, it sounds to some.
To me, I think, pack light.
Another part of me wants a home;
far from the world and everyone else.
Where I can live with the land and talk to the locals every now and then but still come home to my peace.
Am I really that bothered?
It’s hard to speak when I’m surrounded by interpreters of speech and everyone takes everything so personal.
Truth is, nothings about you. It never was.
Anyway,
I’m here. In a town I sometimes don’t want to be. Waiting for my escape to something new. Waiting on a day that may never come anymore.
Just,
waiting.
-N.