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A Sort of Lonely
03:56
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I made the songs that I wrote about you into something that I could hate; to face the mistakes that I made and be able to walk away without ever really facing anything. I'm a romantic only on paper. I spend my time penning words so that I don't have to feel the feelings that they mean when they are heard. See, I clench my teeth and bare my fists through every moment, just like my father did, the same way that he taught me. We all bite our tongues until they bleed, until we're forced to scream. Its the only time we ever break routine and actually let that passion out. My parents made it a habit to never settle down, so why change that now? Since moving out, I haven't planted my feet on solid ground for more than a year and I'm starting to feel uncomfortable here. Nine months is plenty of time to lose your mind and I feel like I haven't seen mine in such a long time. The monotony of this routine has been numbing me. This isn't who I want to be. So where does that leave me? Well, it leaves me writing questions down on loose leaf sheets, as if simply asking means answers might come to me. Like, is the writing still inspiring? Is the poetry cathartic, therapeutic, or me just making up excuses?
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If only you could clean out your mind like you clean out your apartment and mine. Don't spend your life inside. You have so much time and so much you could do with it. You're going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine. Don't let your insecurities get the best of these moments together. You can't blame it on the weather forever. Eventually this will get the best of me. I need you to believe me. I'm not the man I used to be. I've seen too many eyes in too many dark rooms, but none of them meant anything until I saw you and the way your's shine. This wasn't a waste of time. Some lessons are just learned harder than others. This one was mine.
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The last night that we had together I spent pulling every old photograph from every old photo album that I could find in mom's basement; looking at each, one at a time, watching you feel the lines in your face as you described the years as they had passed by. I felt the veins in your arms, watching you feel the blood flow from the heart that had eventually led to the bloodline of my life and when you left, I could have cried, but you laughed as you smiled and that's something that I'll always have to play on the projector screen in my mind. The evening that I received the phone call that you had gone, I finally let those tears fall. The night we said our final goodbyes, I stood beside your casket, staring at closed eyes, asking all the questions I had left in my head; words I wished I'd said while you were still alive. It hurt to see them cover up your veins. It hurts to know I'll never hear your voice again, but I'm so happy that you found rest. I know better than to say that this wasn't for the best.
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Small Talk Halifax, Nova Scotia
Small Talk was Joel MacLean, Maggie LaPierre, Jordan Hoyt, Rob Weddleton and Gregory Connors.
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