The Vent/Ranting Thread

[Squittle]

I envy whatever odd, underlying positivity and hope Vatman sees in the coming of Spring; seasons have never been points of interest for me. I've never some dawning quality in Spring, never seen the biting white Winters that are written about, never the bright and warm Summers nor the orange Falls.

Seasons are more a blur for me than anything else; they hold no essence, no aesthetic beauty or quality about them that makes them special. I am too cluttered with events of my life - the monotonous, the monochromatic, the boring, the dull and unambiguous - to truly see or enjoy those changes; to actually, for a moment, look outside and see not the same dull field but a pathway littered with orange leaves with sunbeams and fireflicker cutting through orange trees. To actually, for a moment, look outside and see not a wasteland of barren trees without even letting the thought of "Winter" enter my head but to see a snowscape of white, soft, cold ice, layering the roofs, slipping from the branches. But I'm too locked up inside - be it a school building or my own home - to even recognize those things. Disappointing, really.

For me, the cold is not "Winter"... The cold is cold, numbing my goddam toes through my socks. The sweaty heat is not "Summer"... the heat is heat, making me lethargic and weak with sweat pooling on my clothes. The season's stereotype qualities appeal to me... A Winter Wonderland, a flowery field of green, but I never see these things, not where I live, not with a restrictive school system that goes against every value I hold and wish I make, not with intrusive people that are only poison the more time passes. I want to roll in the snow, to pass out in a field of flowers and laugh...

I want nothing more than to bike down a dirt path and stand up on my pedals, throw my arms to the wind, let the breeze make my eyes tear up and the wind fill my coat, let the orange sunbeams explore my blurring form. I want nothing more than to pass out among the cool waves, let the sun burn my skin, fall beneath the salty water, watch the sun pierce the sea and study the floor... I want to feel free, to feel freed... and yet here we are. Inside.

God, to experience those highs... I'd kill to feel those seasonal beauties again. To be alone, to feel the stereotypes of the seasons hit my face. We are too cluttered now, too busy, too restricted. To not experience the stress of work, the humiliation and pain of human interaction, nor the anger of disagreement... to just be alone with my thoughts and the season, whatever it may be, would be a virtue and a gift. Because we've all had one of those moments that defined a season for us, and we didn't see its euphoric beauty for what it was until we looked back on the moment nostalgically, reminiscently, and prayed to feel that feeling again. And if we were all to just feel that high perpetually, infinitely, indefinitely, with an empty head and swelling heart...