Thoughts – confusing and relentless.
Sleep – escape and dream.
Write – comfort and familiarity.
What comes next?
An escape from reality, even just for a while. It’s a drug – never enough. As letters start spreading on pages, I start to feel a familiar sort of satisfaction. There is isolation in my solace. No one knows what goes on inside. Because you see, the mind is a powerful being. Capable of building up and destroying. And for me, all I see is fire. It burns with a bright flame, a steady heat but it spreads. Running in motion through my nerves, it’s pumping in my veins. What is it? Blood? Or fury?
What comes next?
The future is elusive. It runs ahead of you without stopping, and you find yourself trapped in this cage of the unknown. You have the key but it does not break you free. No matter how many times you turn the lock. Because you see, the heart wants what it cannot have. It tries to mould your destiny but it has no power. Time is the only telltale sign of truth. But time is cruel and it causes anxiety. Fear is your only friend. And so here you are. Caged.
What comes next?
Do I let the fire devour me? Or will I splash 10 gallons of water to extinguish it?
Who even knows, and does it even matter?
Well, one thing I know for sure is that even in the silence You speak.
And You reminded me again today that I was born to write.
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Ironic that I Googled “quarter life crisis” and I was scrolling through the website when stumbled on this article. Thank you Mr Paul Angone – whoever you are.
x
