This Town

 I've been here before. 
Or at least I've passed through this town in a dream. 
The recollections of old memories sprout up like a rats nest of weeds. 
But In all honesty I can not bring myself to remember what inspired me to leave. 

I find myself peering down a path that still has untouched snow. 
Dead tree branches lay staggered along the dead tree covered road.
My curiosity was piqued as my footsteps became the first signs of life that this cold winter will show. 

The wind whispers, then periodically pauses. 
The stone road I walk on ends, so I direct my attention to the dirt path on the left and keep walking. 
I never got to tell her how much she inspired my life. 
But somehow from the unsaid words I feel like my eyes told her everything I wish I could say. 
It's fascinating how life comes together. 

I pass by treasured locations that as a child I would push and ponder meaningless problems. 
Skipping stones, always striving forward trying to make the next stone go just a little bit farther. 
Now it seems the dead have been awakened, as past friends faces greet me at old familiar places. 
Telling how much they miss me, and how long it's been since they've had the pressure of being in the presence of my half hearted grin. 
They tell me how much time has flown by, but I'll never believe it until I see my wrist watch sprouts wings and take to the sky. 

But all this familiarity from this town makes my stomach uneasy. 
The ghosts of unwelcome thoughts cause my body to grow nervous. 
Flashing before my eyes I replay the scenarios of every action that cut my wings off and placed me back underground. 
A clown confined to his own hell like circus. 

The building are softly caressed by the lingering fog. 
The representation of this mist seems to mirror my emotions as if it was its true refection. 
The uncertainty of any path, any building, any door I journey through from this point on is unknowingly clouded by fog. 
Unable to know your outcome, unable to see what lays beyond it, unable to predict the future. 
And me along with every one else in this hopeless world fears not only what they don't understand but also what they fail to see. 
Unable to see the forest for the trees. 

I sit on a weathered bench to catch my breath and try to suppress the anxiety coursing in my veins. 
The sprits of children scurry around, spilling out of the black blood of night. 
Eating and consuming the innocence of youth. 
It's raining again, I hate the rain. 
It makes me feel like this land is constantly weeping. 
Weeping for all the lives that have been awakened and realized how desolate this place is. 
How if they were going to make even so much of a dent in this world they would need to leave this town. 
But no matter how far a boomerang may go it always seems to find a trail back to where it was first thrown. 

Maybe that's why I've returned. 
Because I'm unsure on how and what I want my small ripple in life to make, to become. 
But when all else fails people return to where ever they feel the most comfortable. 
Where ever they feel the safest, no matter if its with relationships, substances or places. 
The sun starts creeping passed the clouds as if it was in a crowded room so intent on making it to the front door. 
Trying so hard to leave so it can shine upon my face just to prove there is still light in this world. 
I feel nothing will ever break my heart again, for I have grown accustom to surprise. 
Accustom to pain it seems we meet on such a regular basis we know each other by first names. 

But now looking back it seems my life has been full of nothing but failures. 
Continually rejected by the girl I love. 
Unable to entrust faith in my mother or my best friends. 
Always letting down my father. 
And also, not being able to establish stable footings from the pain I've encountered, and instead of growing and learning from it I continue to bathe in a pool of regret. 
As I look at the life I envisioned for my future self when I was younger all I have done thus far fails in comparison of how I thought I would impacted this world. 
Yes, looking back there is so much I wish I could change, so much I wish I could tell you, so much I wish I could have given her but sadly it wouldn't make much of a difference now would it. 

Maybe it is time I put down my pen and let the actions of my life start writing a new book, one that my pen is not hesitant to write. 
One that I'm proud to embrace as the title of my life instead of crumbling papers defining the feeble attempted I have made of living. But what should I call it? Hmm...