I will say this.
We are the energy that we consume. Same as we used to say you are what you eat, I will say we are the energy we consume. Think hate, feel hateful.
Feel loved and think lovingly.
I see this now.

I will say this now and for the rest of my life.
We are who we think we are. Therefore, if we believe that we will never rise above our limitations, then we will always be limited.
There will always be a ceiling and no stars to reach for.

If we believe that our past defines us, or if we believe that we will never escape heartbreak or that we will never get over something, then of course, we never will.
And I have to say this, never is a really long time. However, the ideas of never are fitting in some cases.

Ah, summer.
Ah the memories of the 4h of July, Independence Day, and how the sky would light up with fireworks. I remember looking up at the glittery colors. I remember the loud booms from the rockets and the mortars. I remember the feeling I had too.
This was wonderful.
I remember hearing The Star Spangled Banner playing out loud and the feeling I had in my heart, which is the same feeling I still have whenever I hear our National Anthem.

I understand our problems as a nation. I understand that a bird needs both wings to fly straight. I understand that neither the right side or the left side of our government seem to fly straight at all.
But that’s okay.
We all have our troubles and like that saying goes, “America, love it or leave it!”
See, the thing is I do love her . . .
and therefore, I can’t leave.

Ah, the stars.

I remember sitting on the roof of my childhood home. I used to climb out of the window on the side of my house. This led to the top of my garage. Then I would proceed upwards and climb to the top of my childhood home.
I remember this, late at night. My house was on a main road in a small, but typical suburban town. I say typical because we were all equipped with our own secrets and our own private dysfunctions.

We all have our own moments when life is unfair. Then again, there are times when love is unfair. There are times when love is only short-lived, fleeting, or left by the wayside and truth reveals dishonesty.
This is hard but this is true.

Time is often unfair too and still, I admire this world we live in.
I do.
I love every piece of this place.
I love the sunrise and the sunset. I love the sky when the clouds are like feathers or spread out like white skeletons. I love the morning sky when the clouds are otherwise seen as the see-thru bones of angel wings, or like the cotton leaves of palm trees that stem from the branches of some dreamy paradise.

You have to get up, son.
You can’t run forever. You can’t hide either.
You can lose, and that’s fine.
But you can’t quit. No.
Quitting becomes a habit, and this habit is way too hard to break.

You have to get up. You have to give it your best, each and every day.
No matter what.

After all, this is life.
Or should I say this is me. This is my life.
I know . . .

I own this and I claim it. Good or bad, faults or flaws.
This is me.
I have been here for decades now. oftentimes, I see that I look back and lie where I shouldn’t.
I look back too often.
Though looking back is not all too bad.

Decades later.
I never thought that I would look back and regard my life like the way I do now.
Life in hindsight. Life with the breathe of nostalgia and the need to redo or rethink and re-feel youthful.
Or as the saying goes, “ah, to be young again.”
I never thought that I would look back and rethink myself, or rethink my choices.
I never thought that this would be me. But then again, no one thinks this will be them, later in years.
I never thought I would wonder about the warning signs and red flags, which I chose to ignore with hopes they would go away.

Everything was about style, especially back then.
Remember?
Everything was about the way you stood or how you moved or responded to the world around you.
Ah, the male ego and all the nonsense that comes with it.
So fragile. So weak. So insecure, and so it was, a long time ago.
I remember well.
At the same time, I am not sure if I remember anything correctly.
Except, of course, the moments that left a mark. Except the memories that left an indentation in my so-called armor, which I used to protect the so-called truth of my vulnerabilities.

I remember this well.
But wait . . .