I cannot grow beyond my borders.
It sounds like a death knell: “ I cannot grow ….”
Some might say the answer lies inside: hold what you have and they might be right.
For them.
It is not as though that is forgotten, eschewed in the leaving: it is just … do you carry on and let them in; see the bare walls, no carpet, not anything: just walls. Or concede the argument and tend to the threadbare when the storm has passed? You and it together, alone.
Certainty rides by in its chariot, caprice incarnate.
To many, a thing of golden splendour, a feast of sensual delights.
To you the unknown, a caricature you see on its daily parade.
To you the known fiction of the fixed path, the routine, the assumption that tomorrow will come. And pass. As today. Just a day.
Choice. Leave it long enough and you will have none. But the distress of the decision is tempered by the joy of the memory; if you will be brave enough to deny gratification.
Perhaps.
I can only speak of what I do not know.
2 comments:
It's lonely when you're looking for something you don't know is there. Especially when you see it as something completely different.
Life goes on, so quickly and the clock is ticking. But when it's all over will you look back and see regret?
Line 10, I like a lot.
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