In the hustle and bustle of my choice to work, I am confronted by the fact that the space between will grow larger and larger, until I cannot get my hands tied around what happened, and where it ended. Of course, I will contain this until the smoke settles. Because presently, I still cannot understand how it's going to be; seems like there are no plans in the air, maybe that's a plan in itself-there's nothing to shoot down.
When I look upon the next years, I don't know where I'm going to find myself. One thing's for sure-I cannot spend more than a minute looking at this certain attire. I could, perhaps wear it longer, if I knew that I was going to get inked soon. But you tell me not to as well-I would follow willingly if I knew I had something to anchor myself on.
There will always be those who will say but what about the longevity of it all. But not much to hold on to, you see, spending much time in then out, and most of the time out than in. Or whence in, not really in-more like a one-way street with a passive audience.
So there it is, and here they are. And dealings will be pretty much familiar, only I learned later on (with all the protocols I am growing accustomed to) all you need to do is take a step back.
Then maybe I will grow flowers of anger again, flowers that are only too familiar, like your high school best friend who you don't really know much about right now because she might have gone underground, who knows? But it will be a painful victory, stepping back, and stepping out into yourself again, reacquainting yourself with the who when you're with someone unfamiliar.
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