What to do?
What can we/I do?
Wait, I suppose.
I hate organizing a life around pivotal moments.
Hate it.
Life, to me,
Bears the connotation of a flow.
A connected history,
Not blips of action arranged in a linear fashion.
I want the middle.
But then again, who am I to look down on this?
I’m the one that has been blotting out the middle parts,
Rushing to the end of those days so that I can…
Wait.
Is that our curse?
Laze through rushing?
Are we too detached to stop?
It seems like we skip by things that past people’s couldn’t have.
But maybe it’s not our haste.
Maybe,
Though I won’t even pretend like these are original thoughts I’m spewing out,
We’ve become detached from our physical plane.
Not entirely of course,
But it does make sense, doesn’t it?
This does resonate, right?
Maybe it’s just my camp that sleeps with headphones and looks outside through screens.
I doubt it.
That seems like a cop-out.
This is mind-vomit,
The symptom of solitude.
Or perhaps a side-affect.
Seems the ugly beast of balance has crept into our house once again.
I refuse
Refuse
To allow myself to become absorbed into the world.
I will stand out,
But the higher you climb,
You’re quick to find the change in temperature.
Do all great things come in pairs,
As God himself spake to us through the highly religious traditions of cliches?
Perhaps the cure is as simple as a partner?
One, whole and real person to show the photographs of your world,
And spend the years it takes to explain them.
So tie yourself to one another,
And we can start our expedition into the farthest reaches of human potential,
Starting anew just as all that came before us,
With the same dreams of grandeur on an unrecognizable small scale.
I am tied.
Up, not down.
With pleasure and happiness itself serving as my bonds.
To her,
Who’s name you know if you know mine.
So we will be here,
Far above,
Slowly climbing,
When the rest of you are ready.
What can we/I do?
Wait, I suppose.
I hate organizing a life around pivotal moments.
Hate it.
Life, to me,
Bears the connotation of a flow.
A connected history,
Not blips of action arranged in a linear fashion.
I want the middle.
But then again, who am I to look down on this?
I’m the one that has been blotting out the middle parts,
Rushing to the end of those days so that I can…
Wait.
Is that our curse?
Laze through rushing?
Are we too detached to stop?
It seems like we skip by things that past people’s couldn’t have.
But maybe it’s not our haste.
Maybe,
Though I won’t even pretend like these are original thoughts I’m spewing out,
We’ve become detached from our physical plane.
Not entirely of course,
But it does make sense, doesn’t it?
This does resonate, right?
Maybe it’s just my camp that sleeps with headphones and looks outside through screens.
I doubt it.
That seems like a cop-out.
This is mind-vomit,
The symptom of solitude.
Or perhaps a side-affect.
Seems the ugly beast of balance has crept into our house once again.
I refuse
Refuse
To allow myself to become absorbed into the world.
I will stand out,
But the higher you climb,
You’re quick to find the change in temperature.
Do all great things come in pairs,
As God himself spake to us through the highly religious traditions of cliches?
Perhaps the cure is as simple as a partner?
One, whole and real person to show the photographs of your world,
And spend the years it takes to explain them.
So tie yourself to one another,
And we can start our expedition into the farthest reaches of human potential,
Starting anew just as all that came before us,
With the same dreams of grandeur on an unrecognizable small scale.
I am tied.
Up, not down.
With pleasure and happiness itself serving as my bonds.
To her,
Who’s name you know if you know mine.
So we will be here,
Far above,
Slowly climbing,
When the rest of you are ready.