I don't really know how else to describe it other than it feels foreign yet so vaguely familiar. It's like when you walk down the halls of your old elementary school and see someone walk past who maybe, maybe was your first-grade friend's uncle. I feel like I've been here before, but the last time I was here, I didn't bother to look around, because I was walking backward, trying to focus on what I was leaving behind, instead of the unfamiliar backgrounds in front of me. I will probably never know for sure, but I feel like I did exactly 17 months ago. Like I was either at the end of something amazing, or the beginning of something that I would regret for the rest of my life. But it's both. I know, because I've been here before. I know that the road loops back. You'll run for miles and hours and you'll struggle to catch your breath, but you keep on running because you know that the road will end soon. It has to, eventually. And you keep running, searching with everything you have for the end. And it never comes. Because there is no end. You've come full circle more times than you can count.
YOU ARE READING
Open To Interpretation
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my old poems, short stories, and other writing that I created a few years ago, while I was going through a really rough patch in my life. I wanted to publish it back then, but this is the best that I can do for now. E...
