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2143hrs; 8.4657° N, 13.2317° W

Laying on top of a white Land Rover Defender, beneath natures canvas.

This is what has struck my passion for travel and discovery. In this moment I recognize home is not state side. Home to me, is a word that has little to no meaning. My family will always be with me in my heart and soul, but my body will never have a continuous place to lay. For I enjoy exploring and not knowing what is around the corner.

This incredible night is a night I will never forget. Feeling the cool breeze drift across the ocean, and the heat trying to escape the city. It was an interesting feeling when the air clashed above my restless chest. Watching the stars perform a well thought out dance, you could smell a nearby fire in one of the small villages outside the city.

The emotion, smell, sight, and memory will fade but never be forgotten. This memory is what sparked my curiosity. My curiosity for what lies around the next corner, my curiosity for languages I do not understand, cities I do not know and food I probably should not even test my life with. But this all drives me to understand. . .

》Runner ¤

I am a runner. known to drop everything and disappear for months at a time, but never abandon those in need. This is not because I am a coward, or irresponsible it’s just who I am. Once I ran away from a dream job in a photography studio and never looked back. That ‘once’ was with a girl who is in my past.

Now I am at square one, discovering who I am. . . Again. . .
I am >
25 years old.
male.
Working corporate America one penny at a time.
Recently Abandon.
New to blogs.
Been around travel all my life.                     [This is all I know]

That’s all you need to know about me. But eventually I will show you some threads that hold me together.

I have been to or driven through all the lower 48. Drink coffee, and no not that Star***ks water. More like my personal home roast, or small coffee shops with clever names.

Lived in West Africa for a good portion of time.
I enjoy photography and cinematography.
And also I have a passion for exploring and getting lost.
A passion is a strong and uncontrollable emotion.

That emotion felt is a feeling that triggers an action. This emotion is what I’ve called running.

Everything is changing, so it is time for me to leave. Recently I had a really terrible breakup that left me in a very unfamiliar physical state, emotional state, and predicament. You can read the last several blogs to gain a grasp. But you will never fully know for I retain secrets and not all is to be shared.

I have recently found my self in my passions again, roasting coffee, photography, traveling. My blog is taking a turn for the good. Yes my heart will still bleed on the pixellated screen, but it will be shown in my journey. My work has oppressed my soul, my past has crushed my spirit. It is time for me to go . . .

*All images are my own, please ask for permission to use*

Sliver

The way your lips fall shut against your white teeth, speak louder than your words. Watching your eyes sink down into despair, I see something I haven’t seen before. I can see behind your walls. It’s as if I am a little kid peering over the neighbors fence. As I stand on top of sketchy structure built with the toys I could find in my yard.

I know that I can only make this climb once and as I make it I understand that everything below me will collapse. But to me it will be worth it, worth it in this past moment. But that is the past moment. What about this present moment? As I look back I wonder why I risked it all for such a small glimpse. If I am to build a structure again I’d build it tall enough to pull my self over the wall and into your life. For once I break those walls, I should never cause them to be rebuilt. But that’s exactly it. I though I was peering over the fence, when in reality I was looking through the cracks of life. As you continued to reinforce your thoughts. You never seemed to trust me enough to let me in. I erased every woman from my life and never talked to any woman but you. Because I wanted to show you I was trustworthy.

I never gave you a reason to not trust me. I took really good care of you, never hurt you, never abused you, never left you, always comforted and provided everything you could ever want. You never gave me a reason why you left. Maybe me doing everything you asked was getting old. Or was it maybe because the amount of love that I showed you scared you. And you knew you could not repay it (even though you never needed to)? Or because you allowed someone behind your wall as I was doing everything to get through to you. Someone you liked before me… Which now leads to the question; why did you settle with me for two years? Everything was better than ever till you reappeared in his life.

Confound tears 

​Getting over you. . .
I sit amongst some of the strongest people in gorgeous sceneries. Realizations strike my mind out of no where. Tears form in my eyes but never fall down my cheek. Instead they sit on the cusp of my eye lid. As I shut my eyes, my eyelashes absorb what cannot come out, blurring my vision from what I need to see. Yet the tears never fall. . .

Why am I crying? I am not physically hurting, I am not thinking of you. But then again my mind tends to think of you when I deny the thought of wanting to think about you. My subconscious controls my thoughts, body, and heart. Just as when you’re mad and driving home from work. You are so use to the route from work to home, that your mind is thinking about your anger and frustration. But your body is driving you home. Once home you realize that you never remember anything about the drive.

But I am not crying because of you… Kind of…

I am crying because you took barbwire and wrapped my heart so tightly
that it constricted who I was, who I am, and who I was becoming. You tried killing the good qualities I had, that you didn’t like. For example my heart for family and people. You never admired it, but you knew it took precedence over you at times. I aloud you to wrap that barbwire so tightly around my heart that now it hurts to breath or become passionate about something. Because my heart cannot pump an adequate amount of blood to my extremities to perform the heartfelt qualities I fell in love with years ago.

These tears are not from pain, anger, or thoughts, they are tears of relief. Because slowly that barbed wire is falling off and my heart is becoming stronger. Never have I had tears like this. All I know is I am healing now.

Sorry.

​please excuse any spelling errors it is late and I typed this on my phone.

The absence of existence is not death… It’s just nothing. The definition of nothing is “having no prospect of progress; of no value.”
Being sorry is a word that is meaningless. It’s a conglomerate of letters that make a word we use flippantly. Yeah ill be honest I use it more than I should. But my definition of sorry is this.. Sorry is a meaningless word that has no value (nothing) till equal and relevant action is bestowed upon it to notice a change needs to be made in order for ‘sorry’ to exist. In simplicity you are not sorry till you recognize the problem and proactively adjust your actions to make sorry a non existent phrase but a powerful action.
This is something I have learned and am still learning. In my past I was always truly sorry but had no clue how to fix sorry. So the word filled the void of where action should be found.
To flow on a similar tangent of anger, when family asks “how are you” you want to open up and spill your heart felt pains. After all they are family. But as you start you see the eyes roll, and attention snagged by the moving car cruising down the highway. After 15 words into your pain you stop, smile and say “sorry, it doesn’t matter, how are you?” That sorry is truly empty and will never be filled because it is truly meaningless. Never have I been able to express more than 15 words of pain from this breakup, before I lose the attention of my audience.
But yet here I stand in a gravel filled parking lot watching you encourage a friend as I sit here completely dead and callous to everything around me.

Being a man

She has never spoken badly about me to anyone since she left. I was hurt and don’t mean to speak badly about her, because I still love her. I shoulder all the blame so she won’t feel worthless. I am willing to take the burns so she is happy. After all I am the man. I got kicked out of college when they were going to kick her out. Because I begged for them to let her stay. That was the start of our relationship, so it’s only right I continue this way. For I don’t want her to feel hurt as I hurt.

To answer the age-old question “whose fault was it?” it was no ones. She got bored and left. That’s no ones fault in particular. But being the man I bare the burden. For work became stressful and consumed my life for two months. I was exhausted, had no energy, no time, no money, lost my appetite for quiet a bit in this time. But always reassured her of my love, and was always there to comfort and support no matter what. Two years three months, it all ended. . . She is happy, that’s all I care for, even though another kisses her goodnight, she is happy….

*Reality*

My hands are not clean and groomed. My hands are dry, cracked, scarred, bruised, and beat. You always complimented my hands. “I love the tenderness of your hands, because it shows you work hard to provide and take pride in your work.” That’s the truth. But I am not sure if you noticed the blood that dripped from the tips each night. I am not sure if you noticed the bandages I used, so that I could do it all over again the next day for you. I remember lacing my fingers to yours. Your hands so gorgeous, soft, pure, delicate and manicured. Mine so rough like the wilderness after a wildfire… I remember waking up in the night searching for your hand. It was easily found 7 inches to the right of me. I remember being nervous at mixers and youd reach for my hand knowing i was nervous. I found comfort in your hands. Now I search… Nothing is found, I reach for comfort and my consciousness pulls my hand back into my pocket, where I fiddel with the lint gathered in the pocket seems.

Now my hands suffer working for all you took. No longer in my possession, I still work my hands to the bone. Just to provide for a life and possessions I no longer own. My house is a prison and my flatware mocks me as you run around the country leaving me to suffer.

To the moon and back…

“I love you to the moon and back” is the most painful type of love one can express. Why is that? Because the outer limits of nothingness between us and the moon will test your strengths. The space will consume you and tear your body apart. So therefore I love you to the moon and back. I am willing to be bloated from the mass quantities of nitrogen, and am willing to lose my breath in the absence of oxygen. As all my organs shut down my heart will still beat. I am willing to starve my brain just to show you love. And once I touch down on the moon and am revived, I will spring back to you to complete my journey of Love. To be honest I won’t make it back alive for entering your atmosphere fire will consume me. But at least you know I attempted to show you love.


We love to the moon and back, but always fail. Because we assume enough is never enough.


signed “the over thinker” 

Sand

I use to call you my ocean, primarily because it was your name. But realistically you shared the characteristic. Vast, silent, deadly, gorgeous, mysterious, deep, intriguing, captivating, ferocious, breathtaking, dark, bright, clear, emotional yet powerful. One of the only things I have ever called breathtaking. Sure lots have sailed the ocean and viewed the ocean. But non have been as lucky as I. To be covered but never drowned, captive but never afraid, held but never crushed this is why I call you my ocean. So many shipwrecks I do not know of, but I will search them out… To know my mysterious Sea… At first you hit me like a 20 foot long wave that was 10 feet tall. 410 tons of force crash upon me. But now all 1.37 billion cubic feet of the ocean has crashed down upon me and claimed me as a victim. There is no wreckage or ship to be found. For I was a swimmer lost at sea, comforted by the whispers of the sirens, and rocked to sleep by the waves. I did not want to go back to shore. Here I now lay pulverized by the sheer weight of what love was, i have been caught in the waterspout of the powerful heart, pushed to the bottom of the ocean and am now the fine sand under your feet scattered across our world…


The story of a boy in the ocean. 

City

My city

My city never sleeps! Unfinished skyscrapers that wait for a blaze to take them away. What a waste of space. Towering giants alone in the city, naked and hollow.. yet this cataclysmic building stands above all others. Could have been gorgeous and vibrant, but now it stands a lifeless shell that is to never become more than a lifeless Skelton in the world’s closet.