I'm back again where I started. Back at a job, back at school. Things feel slightly different but surprisingly the same. The seasons pass like fireflies, flitting elusively with the turning of the calendar's pages.
I have a lot to say but the words come out all wrong. My biggest fear is that I love something more than I had planned and try as I might, I cannot shake it. What of this city? What of this season? Why do things get so higildy-pigildy in the Spring time?
Am I just trying to paint the roses red? Is this an attempt at something impossible? When I say that I'm certain, not judge-jury certain, but certain-ish, does that count? And do all the cliches of loving and losing and which is better and all that, do they ring true or we agree to simply call our mistakes 'experience' and tear our hearts from our sleeves and move on? Can a hurt so profound still be immune from 'regret' status?
"Hey Jane... get me off this crazy thing... called love."
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