Jax Memories,
21/11/2025.
>> If I had a Gun… - Noel Gallagher’s
There’s something heavy about watching a year come to an end… like every day that disappears takes with it a part of me I didn’t know how to hold on to. Sometimes I look back and feel like I lived too fast, left too many words unspoken, too much love unprotected. And that weight… it hits harder when the calendar runs out.
Closing cycles was never my strength. I always stayed a little longer than I should, always waited for something to change, for someone to return, for the world to give me a break it never planned to give. Some memories don’t burn anymore, but they don’t heal either; they simply exist—shadows that follow me when the road gets quiet.
And yet… there’s a soft, almost human kind of melancholy in watching a year die. Like life whispering that, despite everything I’ve broken, there’s still a chance to do things differently. Not better… just differently. At my pace, with my scars, with my absences.
Maybe that’s all I can ask from the road ahead: a little peace in the noise, a moment to breathe without feeling like everything I love is slipping through my fingers. And if that peace never comes, if the road stays rough… at least I’ll know I tried. That even a tired soul can find a small corner of clarity before the next cycle begins.
Because in the end, that’s what I am: a man still moving forward, even when the past is heavy and the future hurts. A man who looks at the end of the year the way he looks at a sunset—with sadness… but with a quiet hope that maybe, tomorrow, it’ll hurt a little less.
Jax Memories,
21/11/2025.
>> If I had a Gun… - Noel Gallagher’s
There’s something heavy about watching a year come to an end… like every day that disappears takes with it a part of me I didn’t know how to hold on to. Sometimes I look back and feel like I lived too fast, left too many words unspoken, too much love unprotected. And that weight… it hits harder when the calendar runs out.
Closing cycles was never my strength. I always stayed a little longer than I should, always waited for something to change, for someone to return, for the world to give me a break it never planned to give. Some memories don’t burn anymore, but they don’t heal either; they simply exist—shadows that follow me when the road gets quiet.
And yet… there’s a soft, almost human kind of melancholy in watching a year die. Like life whispering that, despite everything I’ve broken, there’s still a chance to do things differently. Not better… just differently. At my pace, with my scars, with my absences.
Maybe that’s all I can ask from the road ahead: a little peace in the noise, a moment to breathe without feeling like everything I love is slipping through my fingers. And if that peace never comes, if the road stays rough… at least I’ll know I tried. That even a tired soul can find a small corner of clarity before the next cycle begins.
Because in the end, that’s what I am: a man still moving forward, even when the past is heavy and the future hurts. A man who looks at the end of the year the way he looks at a sunset—with sadness… but with a quiet hope that maybe, tomorrow, it’ll hurt a little less.
