838 W. Newport. Chicago, IL 60657
I’m not a sentimental guy. (That’s a lie. I am a sentimental guy, but I try not to be. Sentiments lie in the past, and the past is always romanticized in retrospect. Thinking about an idealistic past only leads to wistful melancholy in the present, and I would prefer to move forward to the future before I reminiscence.)
I don’t like to reminiscence. (That’s a lie too. I look back more often than I look forward. There’s people and places I think about every single day of my life; people I haven’t seen in years, places I may never go to again. To believe that they will one day disappear is naïve and ignorant of me. They will not disappear. My recollections of them may fade like a Polaroid left out in the sun for too long, but those snapshot memories will not suddenly vanish.)
I am content in letting things go. (What a bunch of bullshit. I don’t want to let anything go. I want to hold onto everything forever. I want to freeze moments in time and live in them forever. I want to have the best days of my life conveniently stored away behind doors that I can enter and exit at my own discretion; static time capsules of my youth.)
When I was growing up, there was a little picture in my house that said: “Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same.” I would like to think that most people I have known have come in and out of my life very quickly without having an affect on me, and that I am a mere phantom of a memory to them. I would like to think that I am a rock, and that I am an island. I would like to think that I touch no one and no one touches me. But that’s all bullshit too. The majority of people I have known have left footprints on my heart, and they have helped shape me as a person, and my psyche and emotional capacity is too frail to be a rock or an island. I am a flawed, imperfect human being who romanticizes the past so he doesn’t have to confront his indefinite future.