Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Breaking the waves.

You in the dark, You in the pain,
You on the run. 
Living a hell,  Living your ghost,
Living your end.
Never seem to get in the place that I belong.
Don't wanna lose the time, Lose the time to come.

I chose this.
I chose this life.
I chose this path.
I chose to be alone.
I chose to take a risk.
I chose to throw it all away.
I chose not to call back.
I chose to say what I did.
I chose to pick that fight.
I chose not to chase after her.
I chose to walk through that door.

We want so badly to be accepted, to feel like part of something bigger. We all want to be half of something perfect. 

I put my whole heart into everything I do.
I wanted so badly to give my heart to someone, but she wouldn't take it.
I decided to give it to the oilfield, and it took it.

It seems really weird, objectively.  Seeing the lights of drilling rigs in the distance almost brings a tear to my eye.  Watching the silhouette of a pump jack against lights in the fog makes me feel better about life.
I'm so emotionally and personally invested in this, and I don't know why, really.
I don't know why I can care so much about something like this. How can I be so dedicated to it?
It's almost like an extreme patriotism, only instead of being patriotic toward my country, it's toward an industry.

Maybe it's because, it's been good to me.  So far, it's given me back everything I've put into it. It's been fair to me. It hasn't given me more than I have deserved, and it hasn't asked of me more than I could give.

We try. And we try. And we give. And we cry.

Sometimes we have huge holes in our hearts that we try to fill with things. 
Maybe we fill them with clothes, or cars, or phones, or video games.
Maybe we fill the holes with ambition, or work.

Nothing really works.

But we continue, in hopes that somewhere along the road, someone will find us wandering, and that person will just happen to have exactly what it takes to really fill the holes.

There's a girl I'm really proud of. She pushes herself so hard. She wants to be good enough.
She doesn't realize that she's her harshest critic. She doesn't know how much I admire her for her never giving up, never backing down. I think that everything she does is amazing.
She doesn't know how beautiful she is, or the way my heart melts when she looks into my eyes, and nervously bites her lip. 
She doesn't know how my heart breaks when I think of those green eyes crying, or her heart hurting.
She doesn't know how I worry and hope and pray that she'll be okay on the weekends when she's out with her friends.
She doesn't know how hard it is for me to wish every single day, that
 I was just about a eight hundred miles south west of here. 
She doesn't know, because she'll probably never read this.

Sorry everyone, this is kind of a rambling post with no direction. 

I've been awake for most of the last 48 hours.

I've had a lot of time to think, and to rack my brains as to how to fix things. 

I pride myself in fixing things, but I think I'm losing this one.

The tighter I hold on to some things, the faster they slip through my fingers.

But tomorrow is a new day.
I like to think that someone, someday, will feel lucky to have me.
But, I think we all like to think that.

Even if I never find that someone
I'll still have the oilfield.

Gregory George Page II

The winner of the contest will be announced on Friday.

Also, my dad is safely home from Kuwait, as of tonight.

No comments:

Post a Comment