There's always...

 Time.

October. Today.

September went out with a bang. Not really. September was entirely lackluster, highlighted by very few things that don’t eve seem that good. September was nothing like I thought it would be, but expectations rarely equal reality.

I got to hang out with my good friend tonight, Ron, which is always a blessing and far too rare, and my friend Mike invited me out to the bar with him. Ron and I get there and it turns out, what the fuck, I know Mike’s girlfriend, I’m extremely good friends with the guy Mike’s hanging out with…and I don’t know who the other girl is but I don’t really care. Small world. Really small world. Really, though…the world seems so small, but that’s because I haven’t moved away from here, and I really, really, want to move away from here.

So far away.

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I want to get away, to go out and see no one I know, to be a stranger in a strange world. Not that I don’t love my friends, I do, but there’s people everywhere, and I can be everywhere as well. I’d like to start again and see where I end up.

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Driving home was strange tonight. By how often I stared at the sky, I’m surprised I didn't crash. Silent lightning scorched the sky. I was listening to Explosions in the Sky on my CD player. What I listen to is always far more important than it should be, but music is everything; it’s the most beautiful thing I will ever know, the purest and most untainted, which is sort of the same thing but not.

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Driving home, I couldn't help but think far too much, as I tend to do, and I only smiled when lightning flashed and lit the sky, when jagged bolts tore through the sky, when the sky was white, so white, and everything else was dark.

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I’m a sucker for weather. I love storms. In my perfect world—a very fucked-up perfect world, indeed—storms would be nearly constant. Thunder and rain, a tempestuous existence broken only by peaceful moments. I think, because, I’m quite tempestuous. Not on the outside. More than ever, on the outside I’m calm and tranquil, silent usually and the opposite when I choose to be, which isn’t often. Silence, in which I think and weigh so much on a scale of my own, when inside I’m extremely tempestuous, dangerous, I think, to no one other than myself, and even to myself I’m not truly dangerous. Not in a physical sense, at least. Just mentally, in those recesses where thoughts run rampant and control is so, so fragile.

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So when it storms I’m reminded of something, of myself, and I don’t know where to go from there.

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And so here ends another month. I remember when I didn't know what month it was, when time blended and the date rarely mattered. And while September passed quicker than August, and while July was the slowest month of my life when June passed nearly as slowly, but better, I assume October will not be so different. This is good, though…in some ways. Time passes one day at a time, and often it doesn’t pass at all.