(backwards)

part of me wants to go back.

part of me wants to go back to the days when nothing mattered but soccer, women, and music.

i used to get pissed when my mom wasn’t sure yet what she was making for dinner.

my biggest concern was running two miles in 12 minutes and how many people might fit into my basement next saturday.

my parents were beyond cool with us throwing parties, by the way.

thanks again, mom, dad. happy anniversary again too.

in california a rainy day was about as rough as it ever got, for a solid four years.

if you take out the first time i was cheated on, a few severely painful mornings due to my social life, and september 11th. and the day i missed a penalty kick to knock us out of the tournament.

sometimes i want to go back.

they say to leave the past where it’s at but sometimes you just can’t help looking back and admiring the life you’ve had, because it’s the only one you can gaze at with any sort of clarity.

i can tell just by looking back into last november’s posts that this time of year is retrospective for me. i can tell i self-evaluate and i look around and i take care to notice the details floating around my friend’s and family’s experiences.

in highschool i kissed too many girls and i slept through study hall and i faked my way through math. our soccer team’s locker room was the kind of room that goes forgotten in the back corner of a humongous school until the weird irish soccer coach who’s on the verge of winning 110 out of 112 soccer games in a row demands a locker room.

in college i kissed too many girls and i met frat guys who became like brothers to me and who were everything you’d imagine frat guys typically would be but with huge brains and books published.

my last day there i stayed up all night and in the morning walked the foothills to see the sun rise and then i went to our graduation ceremony without clothes on.

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