Spent the last couple of days living in nostalgia, looking through old pictures. Reading old emails. Stepping into the shadows of who I used to be and finding, surprisingly, that it doesn't fit anymore. And for some reason, that makes me feel sad.
I choose to live where the light is. Where love is possible. Where possible is possible. I turn my back on the creeping shadows and turn my face to the sun. All this time, I thought I was beating it, only to look down and see those shadows shackled to my ankles. I am standing in a puddle of my own rotting hope.
So much negativity pressing down on me.
From the outside, moving inward. Full of sickness and rot.
I'm turning my shovel in the ashes and I feel like I keep searching, looking for a shard of colour in the surrounding miles of gray. I wonder if I am a caterpillar who cloaks his potential in the winter of his cocoon, or just a silly centipede trying to convince myself otherwise.
Feel it in my gut, something is shifting. Almost imperceptible, but its there. My anxiety climbs as long as I cannot put my finger on exactly what has changed. Or why. That tremor in the earth, through my toes and into my calves, that turns my stomach. The wind in my hair is loathing, not freeing. Stealing my breath and making no promises.
Sitting, clawing at my thoughts inside my brain and praying for the break. This is gotta be a good life. Somewhere. Or it has to have the potential to be. There has to be something to come from it all. I am a lover, a giver, a friend. I am also a liar, a poser, and a thief. Aren't you?
