For once, tonight I don't want to drink, I don't want to be hazy, I don't want to smoke a joint, or do a few lines.

I am content being sober I guess, because I feel as if I have important things to do, as if I've rediscovered some sense of purpose that has been lacking for eight years or so.

It's so strange to me, this sense of fullness, even though I am so weary, so jaded.

Winter is passing here, and as with every change of seasons, I look behind me for the reminders of where I've come from, and for courage to continue on to wherever it is that I'm going.

Getting kinda tired of running, kinda tired of remembering that Jess told me I reminded her of Tom Waits once.

It's lonely working nights here by myself, but I don't mind it much; gives me plenty of time to think, to sort things out without a bottle.

So strange, how the past can permeate us without our knowing it, bursting out of hibernation just when we thought we had gone far enough.

I guess I do still have a streak of the Romantic in me, no matter how things pan out during the course of days, and weeks, and months, and years, somehow...I'm still me.

Somewhere still lives in me the boy so full of passion and principles, he who loved without speaking, cried without accepting, and receded into the man I am now.