Did I make it to this place in time properly?
In this moment am I who I was always destined to be?
Right now, am I the best version of myself?
This sense of disconnection and misunderstanding, how can I know which direction
leads me home?
Is this to be my greatest challenge, this burden to somehow find a way
to release this cornerstone of rage? To remove this crown of melancholy from my
head?
Could I have done any of this any other way?
Was there a chance to ever walk steps less lonely?
Should I have walked away by now?
Is it time to stop walking with a flicker of hope in my heart?
It would seem that there is no value anymore in the fight for the things
worth fighting for. People will fail people.
What wound does time heal exactly, when time has no interest in healing
at all? Only this desire in dulling the senses enough to blur the lines between
truth and fiction, between history and futures, between everything you could
ever think you knew to be true?
From here I could become anything.
From here I can choose any path that lay ahead of me, or all around me.
From here I can end up anywhere, or I can end up right back here in an
endless circle of questions without answers.
For one second longer I will try to solve this impossible riddle, then
with one determined foot after another I will walk forward, in the direction I
think might lead me the furthest away from this static place, and all I can
ever do is hope that I don't find my way back here ever again.
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