Conditionals

It is a curse; I have been programmed to be antsy, to not be content, with what I have. When I am here I want to be there and when I leave I want to head back. What must one do to be happy. Maybe angst does not, can not, exist once you hit your 30s. It starts being childish, angst, when you get older. Maybe. What do I know.

Pictures of a friend who looks genuinely happy with his life makes me pine for that as well. Pine for happiness, I mean, the same kind he has. I look back and see myself in University, nine, ten years ago, Slowdive blaring from my earphones while lying back on the grass, watching students run around the Sunken Garden. That was happiness. Music, and grass. All kinds of grass. Now there are bigger things I have to deal with, and I do not know how to handle them. “Lucky guy,” I think, going through pictures of a friend. I see in his eyes how happy he is. He never used to smile that way. And now he does.

I wish to close the loops I have started to make, and I must strive to have the same smile on my face. It is difficult to stare at the ceiling all day, to wince in pain and to have so much time on my hands. Nine, ten years ago, I could chase away the angst with drugs, music and friends. Now things are different.

I wish to close the loops I have started to make.

Currently listening to:
The Besnard Lakes
The Besnard Lakes Are the Dark Horse