Something I was doing a few months ago was chasing after the ghosts of tire-tracks I once knew; tire-tracks that were born of a small sense of adventure and pride, with a heaping teaspoon of hormones. I kept wanting to go back to that night when we were doing doughnuts outside that building, trying to see how black we could make the ground. Maybe if I went back to that night I could make you not hate me, make everything that followed not as frightening, I could have spoken my mind, and I could have been confident in making my mark instead of caring who was watching and what they thought. Just a few months ago, I would have gone over to that spot and stared at the asphalt until I was convinced I saw the mark of those tires and heard them screeching on the pavement. I only went back once. Once was enough to know that the mark wasn't there, we weren't the only two to drive that spot and constant traffic had eradicated our mark from that section of road.
I was left with this hollow feeling that I had hoped my pilgrimage would fill but instead it only increased depth. For a moment, I heard J. Gatsby pushing me to try to repeat the past. To reclaim those lost moments and make them what they should have been: filled with life, chances, and feeling. But I knew I couldn't go back; couldn't repeat the past. Try as I might, nothing was anything like what it could have been. Just recently have I come to realize that it is okay. It is okay that nothing quite turned out the way it could have; the past doesn't asked to be apologized for, only to be owned. To learn from your mistakes is the greatest tool to prevent other hollow pilgrimages.
The title of this post, B.S.U.R., is the first song on side B of this James Taylor record I have, and consequently it is played more than most because side B is just better. Anyways, I've been trying to come up with a blogpost for a while and all the drafts I have come up with have this sort of idea floating around it, hence B.S.U.R..
As I finish up this bag of Cinnamini Crunch, I realize that there is little I can add to this post. However, I would like to ask a question of everyone reading this: which way do you fold your origami crane? The answer could be instructions, but I'd like it to be something more than that. Answer this question in prosaic text with your eyes closed. Or just link me to wikihow. Anyways. It is late and I'm calling it a night.