I suppose what I miss the most are the things that no longer exist. And this is more than my youth. This is more than my ability to recover or to make it through a night without any sleep and somehow, I’d still be able to get to work the next day.
But I miss more than this.
I admit it.
I miss the angst. I miss the misdirection and the yearning to live yet I had only just begun. I had only scratched the surface of so many things that I had yet to understand.
I miss my version of the City. I miss the downtown score and the feelings I had when I was walking down by the unknown and undisclosed theaters where people would do their obscure readings.

There are people who we meet in life and albeit brief or if their stay in our existence is short or only temporary, no matter what happens to us afterwards or where our paths go off in different directions, these people will always be unforgettable to us.

I can see them now.
I can call them old friends and I can say that I knew them in a different lifetime. I can say that yes, we were young and we were wild, but not all of us were young. Not all of us were the same yet we were all going through the same process at the same time.

The following is a thought that I cannot say is all mine; but more, this is a connection to something in my life. This is about a time and a place. At the same time, this is about a movie and my relation to a character. 
I know that my sentiments and my version of the past is not similar to most people.
I know that my life only belongs to me and that the way I see things is only the way I see things.
I also know that there are versions of my life that are not supportive to the person I am now.
I get that.

This is a fact. While some of my facts do not support my best light, this is why I am able to shine as brightly as I do – it’s because of this and because of who I am or where I’ve come from that proves my right to survive.
It is in combination with this and with all of what I’ve seen that I can put this here, for you, to read someday with hopes that this brings you warmth on a cold day.

This place is very special to me.
it’s real and sturdy and while I understand this place has been there long before me and hopefully this hill will be here long after me; there is something so delicate about this place to me – like an article from old newspaper that came from your grandparents house – old and yellow. If you fail to handle this carefully, the paper crumbles and falls apart.

This is a reflection of how delicate this memory is to me.
Beautiful as ever, like a brilliant memory that will live on forever.
I remember this well.

I have not always been sure what it means to be a man, at least not really.
Of course, I know what I used to think. I know about the more commercialized versions of what it means to be a man – or to be strong. Then again, I’m not so sure I know what it means to be strong either.
Least of all, what does it mean to be tough?
Do I even know what this means?

Of course there will always be the memories of yesteryear. There will always be the memories from the times of our youth as well as the things we remember about the kids from the neighborhood.
We will always remember the shows we watched on television. We will always remember our favorite meals and the way our bedroom looked when we were little. Or, maybe I should speak for myself here.

I am starting this here with a new journal. Memories From the Balcony is nothing more than a warm invitation. I will set aside the sadness and the hardships and share with you a few details of life. This journal is made to show nostalgia and the warmth of our memory.
My aim is to make this relatable as well as visual. In which case, I want you to read what I leave here; but more, I want you to feel this. I want you to see this. I want you to think about the honeysuckle bushes and the way they smell. I want you to come to a picture in your head and at the same time, I want you to connect this to memories of your own.
My intention here is to bring you a memory and a warmhearted smile.