Love

So, this morning I had a realization. Some of you reading may already know what that was, some of you can figure it out pretty quick. Maybe watching too much Scrubs has made me really think about life and love, maybe I've realized that if I'm willing enough to hurl myself bodily into people twice my size just so I can get back up and do it again, then I should fight for something that means even more. Then came the realization that all I want to do is spend every dime I have (which is zero, all I have are 20p coins) on a plane ticket back.

Love isn't something that you approach statistically, it's not something you just do if you 'feel' it. Love is that thing that happens when you realize you have grown up, and the thing you really want is already in your life. Suddenly all the potential future adventures pale in comparison to that need. All my dreams were exactly that, dreams, but now I realize that the thing I want has been staring me in the face. Sadly, some piece of logic deep down inside has insisted I stick this year out, get the piece of paper, but in reality, for the possibility of this one thing happening, I would live forever in a hovel like the one I'm in now, and eat spaghettios and grilled cheese, if only I could come home at night to a smile from her.

So, if you're in Wales and wondering why I failed to continue my streak of drinking and socializing with anyone and everyone this week, now you know the answer. Some things in this life are worth fighting for, waiting for, and working for. If a jersey with my name on it is worth the battering I take every week (and it totally is) then for damn sure this is worth going to the ends of the earth.

Now all that's left is to work and pray that my road leads me home as swiftly as possible. Now time for a shoddy poem.

A Home near the corn

As the skies turn gray and rain falls down
I can never tell if Wales is welcoming me or not
These rolling hills where ancient men lived
These forests where the deer ran proud
These rivers and bays, the cool clear springs
These are not for me

Give me a home in the fields that lie gold in the sun
And a shed by the brook where the rabbits run
A garden out back and a house on the hill
Give me snows in the winter, make me cold and forlorn
But for the sake of this angel
Give me a home near the corn