Nostalgia = Distortion
I'll never know the degree of contortion
Looking through the rearview mirror of past mistakes and triumphant happenstances sometimes is nothing more than a clouded version of an incorrect reflecting pond. In this I take much consolation. I can no more change that blurred image than I can grasp the next moments in my hands and sculpt whatever I deem necessary at those seemingly important times. This is a sometimes painful, perplexing and satisfying continuing lesson. I hope those that are most directly influenced realize that I undertake these endeavors with an intentional aim at trying to do what is best, though I often fail. But that is the most humbling. It is with both light heart and toughening skin that I realize it is OK to fail, that it is absolutely necessary to at least try. I wholeheartedly apologize to all hurt I have caused and resign myself to living each day firmly fixated on the search for what I used to believe was unreachable. I miss the vast and distant rememberance of the impossibly infinite skies on long drives. I miss the decaying brick and the ghostly steam of the chilly city in the mornings. I miss the hanging banshees clinging to the winter chimneys of my childhood, the crystalline snowpack so blindingly blue-white in the predawn. I miss believing and for that I will try. I will continue trying until I no longer cannot.
This is for me.
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