Using a key to the world to look at aging photos, knowing that as I stare, you're aging, too. There's not much to say besides the fact that it was all fun and games, in the end. Sometimes, like a fickle shoe string - the ends remain untied and often stepped on. Stained from the reminiscence of pavement's long-walked, far left, and never analyzed more than twice. Stained from mud, and dirt, and shit, and sanity lost often-understandably when you accept every situation at face-value, as-is... left to rot in the same pile of garbage accumulated after moving away to college. You thought you knew how to drink before you left for college, too.
      It's funny how the little things stay most unchanged, untouched, and true in the television-like screening of life lived on the wildcard, chances at random and shots - plentiful in hand as unlimited in a rain of furious mistakes and poorly-made decisions. Using a key to the world to stare at a face once memorized in the dark of night with the deep pits of passionately dilated-eyes, it's funny to note the differences in the face, and not the facial expressions. Those little things, and they stay in tact. A letter kept in a drawer, meant for everything else, lacking anything else of course. Reads in a manner unfamiliar to most, but the handwriting rarely-seen was already known all too well.
     Like a movie set analysis, it's hard to understand the sentiment once handed unto you by your elders, as you grow to realize you essentially want exactly the same things. Those fucked up kids grew up to be those fucked up adults you know; and that messy room's now a messy house and there ain't no home to retreat to. The childish way one once avoided things is now the immature way one handles a mess. If this is the worst, then what's the rest?