White lines trail across the sky. I love this.
I love how they symbolize the exhaust from airplanes that passed overhead.
This is beautiful to me.
I love the lines of feathery clouds that leave behind a provocative story of an airplane that flew to a destination unknown.
Provocative.
That’s a great word, I think.

I have not been on a plane in a while. And who knows if I’ll ever be on a flight again?
Maybe soon.
Maybe not.
But I am not here to ante up or play that hand at the moment.
All I can do is play the hand I’ve been dealt
For now. . .

I have no real memories from when I was small, which is not true to the letter but true in the sense that my memories are distorted.
I would say that my early memories are more like pictures of things which I know happened because I was there. At the same time, age and the eventual awareness of life and the emotional content of my aftermath somehow fades the accuracy of my memory. 

If that makes sense.

I was told that memory is a liar.
I agree with this.
Perhaps, I was unsure about my opinion when I first heard the thought that “memory is a liar.” 
However, life and I have gone back a long ways by now.

I have taken nearly 54 trips around the sun, which sounds like a lot to a young man.
But an elder would see me as too young to complain about age.
I know this because I have had long conversations with older friends. And they all say the same thing.
“Just wait! You’ll see.”

I understand that I say that I am being honest with fiction.
And yes, this is true.
But everything that I have put here is true.
I understand that I change names, dates, people, places and things to protect the less-than innocent, including me.
But as fictional as tis is; all of this is true.
Or better, all if this is true to me.

I remember you from the basement of an old church and how you used to smile at me.
I saw nothing to smile about.
And you still smiled.
I saw nothing to be happy about.
But you still smiled.
I saw no reason for me to be where I was and still, you smiled at me and said, “Keep coming back.”

And if there is no way out, then there is no way out.
And, so?
What do we do now?
We have to either make due with what we have or we have to learn to adapt and to adjust.

I saw something this morning on social media, which I found brilliant enough to reshare on my own page as well.
The post read as follows.
“Healing means you stop romanticizing what hurt you.”

Is this something that a real man would connect with?
And so, what does this make me?

I agree when people tell me that hate is taught.
Yes, I agree and I can see what these teachings do for us.
Look around. Can you see it?
Hate is everywhere.
So is love but one would have to learn how to look better and how to differentiate between the two.

I believe that hate is a learned science.
Absolutely.
There are times when I find that perhaps I have learned too much, or too little.
But this all depends upon our perspective, I suppose.

I remember coming to the conclusion that if I can hate so much then I can love even better.
I came to a moment of awareness and realized that the span of my hate can be equaled and outweighed by the depths of my love.
But this is something that takes growth and maturity to pull off.
I am sure of this.

How far do we have to go to find out that we’ve gone too far and lost our way?
I ask this because above all things, I wonder why we fight with the ones we love the most.
Why?
Why argue?
There are better ways for us to spend our time.

I think the worst feeling out of any feelings are the ones that make us believe that something is wrong.
You know?
Either we don’t belong or maybe we don’t fit in. Or maybe we are too compromised and something about this so-called match is subpar or subject to fail because nothing better comes along.
Something is missing.
Something is off or something is stuck like a machine that lost its rhythm.
Do you know what I mean?
Something about who (and how) we are is somehow clumsy or not right for the surroundings.
And, so, we hold on to what we have because having something is better than having all of nothing.
Right?

I should say this before I say anything, but yes, I am a window seat guy . . .
I have never traveled on a train elsewhere or outside the country. I have never seen what Europe has to offer, and maybe this will change for me. Or perhaps one day, I will take a train through Europe.
Maybe.
Or maybe there will be places that remain unseen, at least by me, and perhaps my future will unfold in ways that are beyond my imagination.
Either way –
I am now, and I will always be a window seat guy.
Unless, of course, the trip is crowded and the person next to me is less-than courteous or conscious of limited space.