27. Another number along the way. Till when? As birthdays change from anticipation to a feeling of climbing a ladder of expectations, with each rung representing thoughts of reality. I realize my hands and feet have been falling short, beginning to slip and fall. Too out of reach to catch the uprising hope I still have. Many nights spent, as this one shall be, contemplating the ever growing burden of finding solace in what was once a care free establishment. [Life.] Growing old. Relentlessly avoiding the earmarks of procrastination for soothing dreams instead, as if a quick fix to pass the feelings of failure. [Too many nights indeed.] My time among the world seems inevitably shallow. Fear of stepping in the the deep enriching void of life, is holding my torrid mind from sailing to the clearness, through facets of doubt. Controlling such doubt is nothing but a dream to fragile that it may break as I sleep, as I fear. Calling out across the indescribable surmounting dawn as the sun breaks my stride. The silence makes me cringe to think I am/been failing. Inwardly speaking my voice aloud but outwardly finding the deaf ears. Left with a feeling that falls short of nothing less then complete lack of hope. Representing a portion of myself[soul] in such a term as hope. Comes and goes and changes shape, changes meaning day in, day out. Hope. I believed that simply saying such a simple word could be a catalyst of change that would pull me from the blindness. I do not know if I believe. Losing hope. Finding out as I walk from dream to dream. They are losing more then just color but as if my dreams are to out of focus for me to even recognize. Rattling my brain as I seek the faith which compels me to reach out. Reaching for each rung of that ladder. Everything is changed. A growing sense the ladder has brought me to the highest level my hope as lifted me is at an end. For now. The plateau before my eyes stretches out in every direction waiting for me to start forming my dreams again. Molding nothing into everything I want. Then again the ladder my form before me willing me to climb yet again towards my fate. This is where I am. I realize I have lost nothing. I am no longer viewing life speeding farther away but that I am just gaining the momentum to catch up. To myself. To my future. Stalling? Hidden behind my doubt is the precautionary cursors of fear of failure. My course uncharted. I have to accept to what is given. [Chances. Impulsiveness. Love. Loss. Accomplishment.] It may break my heart of know everything could be unraveling. As I grow older. My heart is growing not only colder. Growing infinitely stronger nonetheless. Its the passion my body yearns for to know I am living and is not without hurt. As I search the horizon of my current plateau to find the edges of my hope I will find what I have lost. I know it can be found. When? Time will tell. As the count down begins again toward another year of listening to the measure of my will against my doubt. I can simply still hope. Whether I believe in finding the voice and the ears to listen. I can do nothing but listen to my will. Rely on myself.
I hate that people are only Thankful on Thanksgiving.
Open your fucking eyes and see how good you’ve actually got it.
