blame it on the satellite

blackstar

i live in a little box. i have lived in any number of little boxes ver the last few years. little square rooms where you’re meant to fit the basic entirety of what material you’ve amassed to gain some meaning and insight into life.

it has four sides. they always have four sides. im tired of four sides.

the last few days i’ve felt disconnected from things. i keep walking around in the kitchen, my room or the front room wondering where i am, what am i doing, why does nothing here seem that familiar anymore?

there is no sense of propriety. there is no sense of identity. there are piles of things i have collected that may have once held more meaning, and while that meaning is not entirely lost, it has in no sense the same concept behind it.

in the face of adversity if anyone tells you they never hesitate they’re liars. self-concept and self-reflection aren’t the things we can easily reconcile with if we never pause to watch ourselves deal with and adapt to difficulty or some unknown.

…..

and it came down to having one foot in the water, the other knee bent, foot on shore. resting on his back, hands resting under his head, blades of grass and pebbles making their presence known to his skin. head tilted, eyes bent towards the far edge of the water. some ancient city scape that he is unfamiliar with beckons in the distance. empty, glaring towers of onxy, reflecting the midday sun like the glint of a blade poised for the killing blow. eyes closed, and the world once more drifts into the sounds of breezes, the quiet lapping of the water on shore, the faint rush of his own blood in his ears. somewhere caught in the middle are the echoes of voices, suppressed in a mind that only seeks to answer one question. what lies behind, and what lies ahead? he does not know the answer. eyes closed, one foot dangling loosely in the chill water, caught in some strange point in time where the only choices are to move back, move ahead, or not to move at all. and still he keeps his eyes closed.

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