The Journal of Jaydon Cole|
08/31/2005 08:03 p.m.
It was more beautiful than I remember, for time has a tendency to cause the colors to fade, and eventually darken into nothing the memories of all we held so dear, and all we never held dear. Nothing was perfect, except maybe you, but that was what made it so perfect.
You nudged me with your elbow and then ran through the white sand filled with laughter. I followed behind you, slowly, trying not to laugh so I could run faster, and spitting out the sand that flew up from your feet into my face as you ran. I could feel the sun starting to burn my skin as I ran and finally, tripping through the sand, I fell. By the time I rolled over onto my back you were already there to help me back up, trying to keep the laughter in.
As the tide rolled in we sat and watched our pathetic little sand castle wash away slowly with each passing lap, trying to use our feet as a dam to protect it just long enough to take a picture, a picture that would capture only the final grains washing back into nothing. We laughed at our little hurricane that destroyed our beautiful sandcastle and everything inside it. "I guess now we should rebuild somewhere a little more north." And so we did. But our sandcastles became further and further away from each other, with each one destroyed we'd start again even further away to try again. It wasn't long before I couldn't even make out you or your castles anymore over the horizon of sand. Still, when the storms would move in and destroy another castle, I could almost make out your laughter carried by the wind from wherever your sandcastle was.
After time we began to look for each other again and even planned to see the site of our first sandcastle. But, as the memory of that place faded slowly from my mind, so it faded from my existence. Just as we had began to set out on that journey I awoke from my dream, and it was gone.
My heart and thoughts are with you now. You were home once, and always.
I am currently Empty
I am listening to Walk on Vanity Ruins by Akira Yamaoka
Snowballs & Promises
07/26/2005 04:11 p.m.
The way the sand danced around your feet, the way the kisses lasted eternity, the way you stared at me when you thought I was sleeping. The dusty windows that reeked of vinegar, bon fires in the front yard placed on top of fire-ant hills, and our tree on Peron Street. Those old small rooms that were once filled with laughter, whispers, and tears have stood in silence for so long, I'm not sure even they will remember us anymore.
There was a reason we had both left that place. But now, for the life us, we can't recall what those reasons were. Nor can we explain what is calling us back. There are memories that were repressed for a reason. Why are we so eager to go dig them back up?
"Do you realize how bad of an idea this is? Do you have any idea how much this will fuck up the both of us?"
"Yes, I do... do you still want to do it?"
"You know I can't say no."
We'd talked about it for so long, but it was never more than that. Now the wheels are in motion, and I think it's for real this time. We'd been searching for so long for something to fill the void left gaping in us for the last 7 years, to find some sort of anchor to ground a future, to find some sort of order in the chaotic outcome of our horrible choices. But what could we possibly hope to get out of this? Closure? Peace of mind? A return of the nightmares, regrets, pain, depression, and ghosts? Or the fulfillment of promises all but forgotten?
I'll never forget that look in your eyes when I told you I was moving back to Iowa. I still dream about the hopelessness that filled your mouth as you tried to talk, but couldn't. And I can still see the desperation that made you shake while all you could do was watch me pack my bags. I made a promise that I would come back for you. A promise that you had always held me to, a promise that I couldn't keep. It wasn't long afterwards that the memories filling that place were too much for you handle, and you soon left as well.
Nobody is going to understand why we have to do this. We don't even understand. We would have never called it home while we were there. But as the years pass, and the memories start to fade we can't help but feel homesick. There was something left unfinished there, something that we had forgotten, memories that needed to be confirmed and remade, loose ends that remained to be tied, hopes that needed to be sowed, and dreams that were ready to be reaped.
"Meet me at our pier in Waveland [Mississippi], February 26  at 7:45pm"
I am currently Nostalgic
I am listening to Sunday Munich
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