Back In The Real World.

It isn't nice here. It is warm and cosy. I am safe indoors, wrapped away from the wind and the rain. There is warmth on tap, ready to fire up or die down lest I burn up or freeze.
I don't like it in here. I want my wind, my mountains, my sprained knee. I want to get back on that surfboard and tell the surf to get fucked, I'm still standing. I want to lie down on the hard ground to sleep and tell myself "Fay" will not come and get me. Thanks McCrorey, worst idea ever. I want to have girls to laugh at and pity because the wombats at Wilson's Prom are feral and the girls themselves are stupid.
I find it odd that here I am, at school, in front of a laptop reminding myself I am back in the real world when Nature is more real. Dicko's scraped knee is real. The gravel was real, the blood was real, the pain was REAL. The hike was real. The shortness of breath was real, the forcing ourselves upwards was real, the view was REAL.
The view of trees that looked like they would just throw you right back up if you feel. The trees that were just begging you to jump. The trees you would walk closer and closer to, ignoring the cliff face until Kate was ready to scream and had such a tight hold on your arm that your fingers were blue. It was real.
How is it that I am here in the "Real World" when everything that made me alive and human is hours away and imprisoned in inadequate gates, telling me I will not be there tomorrow?
McCrorey, thank you for our Sunday Night Serenade. Hearing Damien Rice was ecstasy enough without finding out you knew enough of Nine Crimes to make playing it worth the effort.
Sweet Dreams (or Sour Nights in my case)

Enjoy the "Real World"