The Ballad of a Boy and His Mustache

I want to make sure that I get these thoughts down now before they all slip away by the morning, or at least a few theme suggestions. See, I had just begun to convince myself of some sort of defining moment that I believed that the being I call myself was in the midst of, as I grow to the older self I am doomed to be. I was sure that I had become wiser and somehow more conditioned than I was before but alas, ‘twas only an illusion.

That habit seems to be unshakable. You know, the one where I see something and then make up this whole grand fictional tale that goes where ever my mind decides it should. I have done this many a time and with many different… we’ll say themes. I have even done this same sort of theme before, but somehow the current is appearing to be different.

With that, I bid ye goodnight. I’ll leave you with the promise that I’ll be back to you. It will seem like all this time was nothing by the time I’m back.

See? I told you. Just like that the morning broke and here we are. I’m a day older and if only there was some sort of knowledge that came with this new day. The only thing I know is that my upper lip is cold.

Well, I might as well just say it instead of hinting at it all morning. I used to have a mustache. It’s gone now. I shaved it. That’s why I’ve felt like I’ve gotten older and more mature. My little facial hair illusion. After hearing all the jokes about how I look like a little kid and will never get into a bar ever again, I’ve had several moments where I’ve been able to look off into nothing and think about my life or just life in general. In those moments I’ve come to think a lot about the dark and dripping world and how I am the same boy standing out in the rain.

Is it just fear? I guess it has to be. I’m supposed to be a senior in college and I look no different than when I was a senior in high school, both of which were supposed to be the stages in this life of mine that were to define how cool I could be in my youth. My self-image issues are just as bad as they’ve ever been.  I am just lying awake as the head lights shine stripes on the bedroom wall, only for a moment before they fade away with a hum. I am the little pieces of dust floating so gracefully in the air, seen only when the sun breaks through the window for the first time in the morning. I am coffee stains and whiskey bottles and bong resin. I am the Marlboro boy.

The world was asleep and now sirens scream to wake up all those around me for tests and exams and speeches, none of which will ever really mean that much.

The only sign of age is under my eyes where hues of purple outline my eyelids. I wish I could do more than describe things but I seem to be at a loss for the ideas I felt I should say last night. Give me a moment, I need to turn off this crap CNN is passing off as news and play my banjo for a bit. If I hear this asshole on the tube talk about god making our earthly decisions one more time, I may throw my shoe through the screen. The bible is nothing but the word written by men, many of whom didn’t get laid enough. I guess that makes me an apostle.

My fear of growing up is going to have to be faced very soon and what a doozy it will be. I have been dodging this for some time because it used to be that 18 was grown up and I am nearly 21. Every day is a step closer to some sort of ending. I’ve lost one and soon all my grandparents will die. My parents and aunts and uncles will be after then. All the girls I’ve ever thought I loved will die. My friends will die, my siblings will die and so will I. Not to be negative but it is the truth and I still feel as though knowing that will help me somehow. My youth is fleeting, despite my appearance. My world is on a path to eventual destruction whether it be the hands of man or the universe. Just like the mustache, nothing is permanent.

I’ll find myself different tomorrow than I was today. The day after that I can only assume will be different. It will continue on this way until the next time I feel like I felt today at which point I will try to analyze this whole life thing. I will then realize that maybe nothing is different and it’s all been the same this whole time. Lather. Rinse. Repeat until death.

This may or may not be the beginning of my decent into madness and maybe I only needed some sort of visible change to see that it’s all only a pattern.  Or is it? I certainly don’t know and I certainly couldn’t tell you who does or should or even might. The amount I don’t know is extraordinary and should be much more upsetting to me. I think it’s starting to but I haven’t really seen how much it is. I couldn’t even blame my issues and whines on such a thing. I think the growth into my new potential for facial hair will be the start of this hermit summer I’ve been saying I was going through with. Maybe, just maybe I’ll progress to where I’ve been saying that I want to go.

The time is coming where all of this will mean something but since time is an illusion, some part of this always meant something. I suppose that it always will as well.

I may or may not edit anything grammatically incorrect with this, but there’s Keystone to have at.


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