Reading old journals can get me in a very nostalgic mood sometimes, but not tonight. Tonight, it just got me thinking; we're all just little kids wearing our parents shoes, and we're stepping all over each other because nothing fits right the way it's supposed to, the way we see it presented all around us.

It's not our fault; we've all got to play dress up until we're too tired to. Then we get old and forget even how to step on each other's feet. Then we'll sit around and talk about how the younger generation is so careless when that's all we want to be.

If you want to be cynical about it, that is. Maybe this was an alright start after all. We'll do better next time.

As I read back tonight, I find it so interesting that in my head, there's a record playing, and the needle never skips. I can remember exactly what song I was enamored of at the time; I really have my own soundtrack, and it makes me want to dig up old cassettes and lie in the dark and travel through time. But it's one in the morning as I'm writing this, and I'm stuck in the digital age; all my music is on my computer, and it's turned off and unplugged because of the storm.

It makes me wonder, though, if I can ever get those songs back, or if they're stuck in history and can only work towards my future, not be a part of it. Is life cyclical; will I find meaning in those tracks again? Or do all our actions carry such immeasurable weight that we cannot reverse them and must follow the tide our own gravity set in motion? Does the past make any difference at all, or is it just sentimental foolishness that has no place?


But the music seems to jump out of the pages. Not as if it were alive, but a ghost. A shadow of a former self, not back to haunt, but here to help.

These songs, these albums, they're mine. I've listened and I've loved and I've sang along, and now I've put them up on my shelf so that I can take them out on a rainy day, or night, and discover who I really am. What I really am. A sum of my parts, my actions, my memories. So that I can jump into history in order to create a history, dotted with quarter notes and vinyl sleeves and the feelings that come along with them. So that I can create a home for myself to venture out from; out of the past and into time, whether it be 4/4 or 7/16.