Tomorrow looms ever present in my thoughts, never retracting enough to allow me to breath. Mortality crashes down upon the soul crushing me beneath its heavy burden, while I try to grasp at the tendrils of my youth that remain, however few and wispy they are, but I can’t get a handhold on their ethereal tentacles.
Regrets for things I have done, I have few. Regrets for things I have NOT done, I have many. With the days quickly closing the gap between the time I came in like a lion, a hollering and screaming at being taken out of such a safe, warm place, to the time when I endeavor to go out the same way I wonder if there is enough time to do all the things I wish to do during this existence, and I find that the answer does not elude me as much as I wish, but is hammering away at me with a stiff finger on my forehead punctuating each word with a sharp jab, and that word is the same over and over again: “No!”
There are those who need me, those who want me to succeed and those who wish I fail in complete misery and abject solitude. I go on despite them all. My bones are weary though and begging me to just let them lie still for eternity, or longer, just so they can have a respite. I can’t give in to the bones though, I can’t let them decide where my heart and head belong, because if I do then regret is the only thing I will ever know, and I can’t live or die with only that.
The knowing of that which is not wanting to be known rips and tears at my being. The rage building up inside at the shear powerlessness of knowing what the future holds in store for me is fueling a new surge that with any luck and lot of prayers to all those immortals who may or may not be watching over me will tide me over as I step off the path of normality, and with no gentle caress of my limbs on the stones of future endeavors I trample forward blindly, but with purpose and hope renewed that I can at least serve as an example of dogged determination to do what my heart and head calls.
Or die trying.
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