A long time ago, I started a Word document on my laptop for poetry, diary entries, rants, and whatever else my seventeen-year old head couldn’t fully put together. And it has been that way ever since. But recently, I came up with (my best attempt at) an answer:

“What the fuck does Army Knives and Nectarines Mean anyway? A year ago I thought it meant great adventures in Yosemite and cliffs you just might tumble off of if you got too close to the edge—I thought it meant getting too close to the edge anyways. But now, looking back on what I had over the course of this year and a half since I came up with that stupid title, everything has changed. You don’t have to be in far off places to live every dream you ever had or even to avoid hurt, because, mostly, it’s not about pine trees that hide your swollen heart or winters that chap your lips and knuckles. Dreams and pain will always catch up to you, just as you cannot run away from your own heart. It’s about the people who do so. I think for so long I wanted to build a home out of scary things and places without roofs because they could never be as cold as I thought people were. At least, that was the concept I built up in my head. But, at the end, through all of these abandoned poems, I realize that, really, they’re all about the same things–the same people. Just different ways of telling the same stories. They’re all about the fact that it doesn’t matter where I am, if I’m falling off a cliff in Yosemite or letting Montana Mountains steal my breath. Because, after running wild, I’ll always come back to them.”

In short:

Army Knives and Nectarines meant more than places. It meant people. It meant sinking into somebody’s arms—finally. Finally being able to sink into somebodys arms and feeling okay again.

So there you have it folks. Spread joy, magic, pain, hunger, light, and dark. Spread everything you’ve got and join me while I do so. But mostly, be a place to call home. If all else fails, you have this community that may or may not just be me.