I used to write a lot on MySpace. It's all just about gone now.
The MySpace blog was likely the best documentation of all that was wrong with me in my twenties. My time before then had been spent being accidentally oblivious to the world, but this decade was instead wrought with anxiety and alcohol when faced with this realization.
I am better now.
I wrote this ten years ago.
So you stay. You stall. You wander around and make idle conversation, attempting to luck into that fateful bridge towards whatever it is that is destined to happen. You see certain opportunities to what might be the right path, but they all lead to dead ends. The wandering goes on.
In all your awkward absence of glory, you look to the sky and grow more tired, but never want to close your eyes for good. Blink and you'll miss it, and you can't have that.
But it never comes.
And eventually, as the sun begins to rise, you give up. Again stalling with half-mumbled goodbyes then stumbling back to where you should have been hours ago, you lie in bed, light pouring through the window, and wonder what you've been doing all this time. And if there ever was a moment to wait for, and if there ever will be. And you can't even begin to fathom what kind of a moment it would be, if it would one day suddenly exist, or what you'd do if it appeared.
You fall asleep, waking up a scant few hours later, with a melancholy feeling of loss for something unexplainable that you never had in the first place.