RANDOM - Coming Home

It's been a thrill, a rush. I've learned a lot, but I honestly can't say I'm that much wiser. If anything I'm perhaps a bit more jaded, a tad more cynical, but, really, what does that mean for such a bitter soul?

But I guess saying I'm bitter is slightly contradictory. I would still like to fall in love with you. I want to see you again. You, I never really knew you, but you were something like a symbol to me--and in many ways you were my love, though you never knew it. You never had a clue.

You probably never will.

But I love seeing you. I love passing you at a distance, thinking, dreaming, wondering. I foolishly fancy about the distance between us--how it is so little and how it is so much--and I think to myself: how romantic! How idiotic! But I do it anyways.

What I think about when I think about coming home is not family, not home, not the sun, or the familiar trails. It's something completely arbitrary. It really shouldn't be the first thing that comes to mind. In fact, the fact that it is makes me quite ridiculous, perhaps even pathetic.

I bet you haven't even thought of me once. You don't have a need to. You have many lovers and many friends. Why would you spare a thought to the "girl with awesome hair"?

It's funny. In many ways we were a pair without trying. Perhaps that's why I fell for your image.

Of course, I may not even see you when I come home. I probably won't. It's a silly notion. It's something that I would like. I would love to randomly pass you on the street and strike up a conversation simply because we knew each other. But I know better than that. Even though it's a small island and we probably could easily run across each other, I know it won't happen. It never happens. If I want to see you, I must carefully orchestrate something, so as to ensure it. Even then I may not see you. It's all a matter of fate.

But I'll be coming home, and I'll know that the distance between us isn't so great and that maybe, just maybe, I'll see you again.