I sometimes stop to think. And everything else stops as I do giving me enough time to go from daydreaming to speculating and eventually sweating over things of the past and over situations or opportunities that will never again occur. Should I feel regretful and weep? No. I am heavyhearted as it is anyway. Had I done things differently would I have known inner peace today? Would I have changed the outcome? I ask myself. Maybe. Maybe I would’ve been accomplished now. Maybe my search would’ve been over by now. Too soon I think. It would’ve been too soon..
Truth is, I like that I haven’t found what I am looking for. Whatever that might be. I like this little drama cornering me from every angle of my world these days. I enjoy this feeling of restlessness that keeps me awake every night. Who am I kidding, I like to see myself agonizing and posing as a victim and a martyr. It’s the fundamental condition of an artist they say. Anguish, I mean. But it goes just as good for anyone else I guess. There is no better incentive than difficulty and depression. No better claim to greatness than having your expectations deceived. It’s not comfort that will get you there, it’s the struggle and the sweat that push your limits. And I am ready for it now.
Mine scare the sh*t out of me:
