one thing thats really really hard to do? (one amongst many, if i may add - but hey, my thoughts, my words).
this one thing... giving up on what seems tougher in exchange for a deceptively simpler one. especially when the latter is something that has been tried, tested and found wanting.
i put all of this on the assumption that i want to do the right thing. which, by itself, rests on the assumption that i will very naturally do the wrong thing. arguable and probably refutable on all levels of human wisdom, but i'm not basing this on human standards.
right now, honestly, its hard to keep at it. to. just. keep. going.
image is not an issue. i could drop, run and keep running. neither is responsibility. it was not mine to begin with. love, that might pose a small little wall to hop over, but i've lost more, these will fade easily with time.
after all, i'm young, reckless and don't they all say that we're meant to live our lives cos "its better to have loved and lost than not loved at all"? wouldnt my prolonged bout of escapism be then romanticised as having the courage to pursue my dreams and taking the path into the woods and being wildly young?
youth. so fleeting, so passionate, so undefined. no consideration for consequences because, y'know, thats so old, yo. so what can i say? all i know, is that my dreams are collecting dust in a corner, my passions are being weighed against responsibilities and eventually passed over and, my youth is walking away.
this is indecision. this is pity. not for that shivering old woman whose hands are clasped tightly on an umbrella as she peddles her tiny bouquet of flowers at midnight. not for her, because, circumstances have left her there, and she is making the most of it, fighting the lack of coins in her pocket, wrestling with and losing to time when hunger catches up. no, not her, she fights. she attacks it with all the strength thats left in the deepest fibres of her being, she fights back the only way she knows how to. but pity, now, pity is reserved for that stranger staring at her, the one with the ill-fitting leather jacket and a well-stocked wallet. Resourceful, capable and undecided. The stranger, eyes affixed, a face contorted with empathy, whose feet are pointed away from her. Nothing but a head filled with wool; a heart both unbroken and unhealed. That is what pity is reserved for - indecision, the entrapment of a soul. No man's land.
its coming back to bite me in the butt, kick me in the guts and leave me standing in the middle of nevsky prospect. i'm cold and drenched, holding a battered camera in one hand and a soggy bible in the other, pockets full with a passport, special gifts and handwritten letters. because, right now, and in the recent past, this is me. convinced of the responsibilities and the duty of love to be paid, yet unconvinced of the price i am paying for it. so i have not actually gotten down to the payment, which keeps me well and truly stuck in this lurch of bumbling idiocy.
when will i find what i am searching for.
when will i truly find a real passion for something i know is worth it.
are you worth it?
this one thing... giving up on what seems tougher in exchange for a deceptively simpler one. especially when the latter is something that has been tried, tested and found wanting.
i put all of this on the assumption that i want to do the right thing. which, by itself, rests on the assumption that i will very naturally do the wrong thing. arguable and probably refutable on all levels of human wisdom, but i'm not basing this on human standards.
right now, honestly, its hard to keep at it. to. just. keep. going.
image is not an issue. i could drop, run and keep running. neither is responsibility. it was not mine to begin with. love, that might pose a small little wall to hop over, but i've lost more, these will fade easily with time.
after all, i'm young, reckless and don't they all say that we're meant to live our lives cos "its better to have loved and lost than not loved at all"? wouldnt my prolonged bout of escapism be then romanticised as having the courage to pursue my dreams and taking the path into the woods and being wildly young?
youth. so fleeting, so passionate, so undefined. no consideration for consequences because, y'know, thats so old, yo. so what can i say? all i know, is that my dreams are collecting dust in a corner, my passions are being weighed against responsibilities and eventually passed over and, my youth is walking away.
this is indecision. this is pity. not for that shivering old woman whose hands are clasped tightly on an umbrella as she peddles her tiny bouquet of flowers at midnight. not for her, because, circumstances have left her there, and she is making the most of it, fighting the lack of coins in her pocket, wrestling with and losing to time when hunger catches up. no, not her, she fights. she attacks it with all the strength thats left in the deepest fibres of her being, she fights back the only way she knows how to. but pity, now, pity is reserved for that stranger staring at her, the one with the ill-fitting leather jacket and a well-stocked wallet. Resourceful, capable and undecided. The stranger, eyes affixed, a face contorted with empathy, whose feet are pointed away from her. Nothing but a head filled with wool; a heart both unbroken and unhealed. That is what pity is reserved for - indecision, the entrapment of a soul. No man's land.
its coming back to bite me in the butt, kick me in the guts and leave me standing in the middle of nevsky prospect. i'm cold and drenched, holding a battered camera in one hand and a soggy bible in the other, pockets full with a passport, special gifts and handwritten letters. because, right now, and in the recent past, this is me. convinced of the responsibilities and the duty of love to be paid, yet unconvinced of the price i am paying for it. so i have not actually gotten down to the payment, which keeps me well and truly stuck in this lurch of bumbling idiocy.
when will i truly find a real passion for something i know is worth it.
are you worth it?
1 comments:
Sigh I know what you mean
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