Blossoming is hard to do upon the onset of fall. My favourite time of the year - a celebration of decay, in a strange way. Everything's dying. But it all dies so beautifully in shades of red and yellow and brown. Memories that were touchable with your fingertips up until now are now just out of reach and you see them slipping away, knowing that the anchor's been released and they're drifting away, at first just a slight blurr then just a splotch of colour on the horizon, then just an invisible ripple in the atmosphere.... I'm not sure what's to come. I know what I would wish for, but I'm afraid to wish for it because, well, it would just not come and then again the rest of the new year would just be feet on a tightrope that has its ends converging again to smear away the line between beginning and end... and there we go again. and again. perpetuity in multi-colours - pick a colour, any colour - it's more exciting in green ! but red would perhaps be too alarming... now what the hell was I writing about? Blossoming, yes, blossoming. and it's drifted away. I can't focus this mind of mine - I want to talk, but I don't want to talk. silence seems the safest way. can't say anything stupid, can't reveal a single thing. because I'm mortified about myself. I betrayed my very own self. knowingly, this time. I knew all along but I somehow became the victim of my own self-mockery. why did I feel so compelled to prove myself wrong? here we go... 31 years and I'm still not grasping my instinct. still deflecting it like a wild atom about to hit the nucleas. don't want to be this aware. must not be this aware. I could very well be wrong, but it always kicks me in the buts in the end. oof. we're all just lonely people. in the end, we're all sending out messages in bottles (Police song kicks in)... but really, now, who would have thought that this one would end up in the wrong hands? and paranoia sets in. fear. distrust towards the external. complete and utter distrust. this hermit tasted the wrong pudding. perhaps at 21 I still had that gorgeous naive trust towards all. but that was 21.
ponging brain. gotta pull the plug. rest is better right now. so ends the blossoming (for now).
