it's the beginning of the end.
Sometimes you just have to climb off the cliff without knowing where you will land.
- Zainab Salbi.
----------------
Whatever were in these hands, it could be used for writing lyrics of pain, or painting caricatures of the dark. What was stopping the hands - was it the fear? What exactly was the fear?
The ideal figure - the one which everyone yearned for. The dissatisfaction in perfection - the fear of losing out, disappearing into nothingness. What exactly was to be feared?
Flipping over, the cycle repeats. The dissatisfaction, the urge to let it out, the contemplation of expression, and the only thing that remained constant - fear.
--------
It was like driving at the wheel, half drunk; yet the other half of soberness kept me alert, aware and conscious of every single passing thing. There would be an end to the highway I was driving on. The roads were winding, and there were portholes here and there. Occasionally, douche-bag drivers would ram into the side of the car; but there is a reason for the bumpers on the car. It was about skill, the ability to maneuver away and avoid any collision. The end point was never made distinct. There were several exit points, but the curiosity kept me from exiting. It was all in the mind, wasn't it? All those sayings about how we should focus on the journey rather than the end; all that was bullshit, wasn't it? The end point was unknown. Perhaps that was the only thing that I did not know about and the only thing which I would look forward to, and the only thing which was keeping me going at this point in time. The consistency of the speed, it was keeping me safe from any unnecessary accidents. The urge to speed up, it was killing me. What if I started driving too fast, I lose control and don't make it to the end point? What if I started driving too fast, I collide into other cars unnecessarily. What if I started driving too fast, and cannot get used to the change of speed? Would I be able to get myself to move back to the speed of comfort? What if I started driving too fast, and I got addicted to it? Ultimately, I just knew one thing - I was asking too many questions and not looking around enough. Every other driver in their respective cars, they were like zombies - just following the road, just driving according to the GPS. If the GPS told them to turn left, they would, not knowing where it might lead them to, although some of the destinations as mentioned by the GPS is secure and safe. One thing is for sure, I don't like the GPS. I don't trust those darn things, I only wanted to drive on my own, figure my way out, and trust my instinct and my memory; yet at the same time, I was drunk at the wheel. I was held captive in this car, not knowing how to get out of it, and there's some form of reluctance which wouldn't allow me to stop the car. How did I end up here? How did I learn how to drive? What am I so afraid of? What is fear?
The great epiphany of holding too much time in my hands.
Yet, at the same time, the sand in the hour glass seemed to dissipate.
The ideal figure - the one which everyone yearned for. The dissatisfaction in perfection - the fear of losing out, disappearing into nothingness. What exactly was to be feared?
Flipping over, the cycle repeats. The dissatisfaction, the urge to let it out, the contemplation of expression, and the only thing that remained constant - fear.
--------
It was like driving at the wheel, half drunk; yet the other half of soberness kept me alert, aware and conscious of every single passing thing. There would be an end to the highway I was driving on. The roads were winding, and there were portholes here and there. Occasionally, douche-bag drivers would ram into the side of the car; but there is a reason for the bumpers on the car. It was about skill, the ability to maneuver away and avoid any collision. The end point was never made distinct. There were several exit points, but the curiosity kept me from exiting. It was all in the mind, wasn't it? All those sayings about how we should focus on the journey rather than the end; all that was bullshit, wasn't it? The end point was unknown. Perhaps that was the only thing that I did not know about and the only thing which I would look forward to, and the only thing which was keeping me going at this point in time. The consistency of the speed, it was keeping me safe from any unnecessary accidents. The urge to speed up, it was killing me. What if I started driving too fast, I lose control and don't make it to the end point? What if I started driving too fast, I collide into other cars unnecessarily. What if I started driving too fast, and cannot get used to the change of speed? Would I be able to get myself to move back to the speed of comfort? What if I started driving too fast, and I got addicted to it? Ultimately, I just knew one thing - I was asking too many questions and not looking around enough. Every other driver in their respective cars, they were like zombies - just following the road, just driving according to the GPS. If the GPS told them to turn left, they would, not knowing where it might lead them to, although some of the destinations as mentioned by the GPS is secure and safe. One thing is for sure, I don't like the GPS. I don't trust those darn things, I only wanted to drive on my own, figure my way out, and trust my instinct and my memory; yet at the same time, I was drunk at the wheel. I was held captive in this car, not knowing how to get out of it, and there's some form of reluctance which wouldn't allow me to stop the car. How did I end up here? How did I learn how to drive? What am I so afraid of? What is fear?
The great epiphany of holding too much time in my hands.
Yet, at the same time, the sand in the hour glass seemed to dissipate.
--------
There comes a time in life where everything seems narrow. Choices have been made. I can only continue on. I know myself like the back of my hand. I can predict my every reaction. My life has been cast in cement with airbags and seat belts. I've done everything to reach this point and now that I'm here, I'm fucking bored. The hardest thing is knowing whether I'm still alive.
----------------
M.
the car went up the hill and disappeared.
the car went up the hill and disappeared.
Comments
Post a Comment