Saluting Don Quixote

That feeling is always waiting just under the skin and can’t be let out, omnipresent beneath layers of dermis. The one that says, ‘Time’s wasting away. Get out, get out now. Quick, before it’s too late!’ It’s a scream caught forever just in the throat, unable to travel the small yet insurmountable distance to the tongue.

And anyplace would do, really. Any small place, as long as it was yours. Freedom is the right to choose, but also the right to settle for whatever you want, for something more or less than present circumstances. To make those decisions that you know are mistakes before they’re even begun, and to still regret them later.

Dreams take the form of faces and places long past, confusing and meshing events together because at least that’s when you weren’t stagnating, when you were doing something, even if it was something hated and detested and scorned. It’s not that the youth don’t realize they’re young; it’s that they fail to understand that growing up is a process, and not just sitting in the same place, never moving forward. By its very definition, growing up means dealing with changes, even those that are so painful they bleed open wounds for the rest of your life.

Far better to bleed dry than to wither away, slowly rotting like an abandoned piece of attic refuse.

Unexpected Break

Well, I knew I would be absent during the beginning of this month, what with season 3 of Sherlock airing, but I wasn't anticipating my computer dying on me. So, I will try to update sometime this week and we'll see how it goes from there. I do expect not to post much for the foreseeable future, since it always bothers me to write on someone else's computer.