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Faraar

I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home. —Rumi

It’s a big responsibility. I don’t think they’re up for it. I don’t think I’m up for it, and I’m pretty sure I started it. I’m pretty sure I wanted it, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t buying it. I’m a C+ parading as a solid B with no positives. That’s kind of harsh. I assure you that it isn’t. If I was overcoming for something, I’d have given myself an A-, but I don’t think it’s plausible, when above average is all I know. There’s a certain level of comfortable in knowing what I can achieve and more will always be the same to me, but never be the one you need. When someone asks me what I want to be, the only answer that seems to fit is:

[faraar v. Urdu for to escape, or break free.]

It seems easier than ever really trying and succeeding. I’m sure to all the people reading, this all comes off as shameless. I mean, is nothing off limits? Does everything we say end up in a blog post? Not everything, just the revelations; and not everyone, just the fleeting glimpses I have of your faces. I’ve lived most of my life in the comfort of my own spaces, never asking for more than whatever I was placed with, but some dreams loom larger, and I can’t control the visions that have yet to be created. I’ve overstated my potential on many occasions, yet my mom continues to be my biggest supporter even when no one else is. 

I don’t want hearsay. I want to know her say. Funny how the truth isn’t the option that we convey, because I don’t know another way to put my feelings into [re]play. Well, it was worth a try? That oddly encompassed everything; her attempts to care, and mine to care again. Closed a fork in the road only to create another bend. We can’t both know how this story ends if only one of us knows how it began. Alternate versions of reality confound me. That doesn’t stop me from chasing every rumor that’s out there. They’re not true. They never were. Then why does no one else beside me not believe them? They’re just teases.

That’s my thesis. The only way I’ll get a PhD will be honorary, after a commencement speech from a school I never graduated. You spent two years there, and all you got was a cranberry t-shirt. That’s not true. I got that in the mail just for applying to, or maybe it was an acceptance gift; I don’t recall. It’s been seven years since I left the Class of Double-O, and two since I’ve ever really felt at home. It’s time to build a new one. It’s time to find a new love that is really just an old one repackaged like a new wine. I don’t drink, but like to catch tossed grapes just to pass time. I’m past time, and she lost mine. Are you still here?

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