Last days home. Fuck it. Last day will start in a matter of minutes really. Summer's gone, like all good things. Although being a winter person has it's advantages, summers feels more like home. At least this one did for sure.
Met all of you lovely lads and ladies, spent time sharing stupid stories and all that, over a beer or whisky (in a bar where you can fucking smoke) and noticed one thing: Everyone, without exception tries to hold on to moments. Hold on to the summer, hold on to your love, hold on to your job.
Why bother? if you can't hold on to it, and you're not the only one who can't, maybe you'll manage to spark some electricity in that neuron of yours and figure out that probably, just probably, they weren't meant to be held on to. Hold on to a great party? Well the drunk sensation won't last and you sure as hell don't want to hold on to that for too long if you want to live to be in your fourties, but you know, the morning after everybody'll be taking the piss out of the night or some poor bastard who got really really rat-assed and ended up sleeping with his head in the toilet or worse. All you get is memories mate, and pictures if you're lucky. Well that and a few scars or bruises if you don't duck accordingly or have balance problems.
Tonight we went out probably for the last time, with a friend. We were sitting like a bunch of idiots, staring at a fresh orange juice and a mineral (hand-demineralized) water, making small talk. It's always like that before you leave for a long period of time. Gets you in a dodgy mood, like a sad puppy caught in the rain. And then you figure out:
Know what? the puppy's still alive. Could have been run over by a truck or could have eaten poison. So enjoy the rain and pray for something good to happen.
Long bloody post that was
Posts
