old tin cups, and little paper dolls all wrapped up, in the ribbons of your heart

my life is attached completely to the place from which i came. it may not be apparent at first but it is.

i spent half of my life trying to forget the past and the other half remembering exactly how it is it went. i am oftentimes aware of the string that runs through time attaching me to my roots. sometimes, when the weather is particularily kind to me, i hold on with only my pinky, barely needing the string at all. but mostly i hang on so tight the grip makes my hands hurt and my heart ache.

i am prone to nostalgia, no two ways about it. i listen to country music cause it reminds me of days filled with sunshine on the deck and colour overflowing from mom's flowers boxes. of my brother two-stepping in the livingroom with mom afterschool on a wednesday while dinner cooked in the oven. the old lazy boy we rocked in while we watched tv. there is something inherently mine about country music and i can't let it go.

my older brother recently started listening to it. i was at his house on the weekend and he was listening to the dixie chicks. i honestly never thought i would see the day. he was the hold out of the family and given his rave sensibility it seemed unlikely. he never seemed much fond of livin in the past. i guess these days he is gripping a little tighter to the rope. but i don't blame him, i think buying a house and starting a life makes you think about those things.

i have tried everything to go back for even a moment. i loved a boy who reminded me of the place, and i took albums of photos of where it began, i search through childhood pictures and wish myself dreams but in the end it is impossible. i was there for a moment and then i wasn't, just the same as i am here for only today. but i have the music and the memories and every now and again i fall into fits of nostalgia. i guess for now that will have to be enough.