"Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick, and think of you. Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new
Flashback--warm nights-- almost left behind. Suitcases of memories, time after time."
Oh, what are we doing? Marching through our days to the dull beat of routine. Going through the motions, turning our backs on the things that make us feel alive, gloriously alive. Because we are afraid. Because it will make waves. Because it is unconventional. Because it means risking our hearts. Or shattering those masks, facades that we have struggled for so long to perfect, to maintain, especially to ourselves. For fucks sake, what are we doing?
Motion for the sake of motion is not movement. I know this to be true. But how do you know when it's time to move? That you won't be left behind, fall behind? That movement is progress and not just white noise that will lead to the same revolving cycle of bullshit that got you in the stuck position in the first place? Why? Where? How? When? Who?
Frustrated. Confused. Weary. Head aches, heart longings in this lonely wilderness of the soul. And yet, sort of alive again after feeling half-dead inside, after my self-induced coma of comfortable numbness. Wound up. Feeling over-caffeinated, even though I am drastically under-caffeinated today. Listening to Cyndi Lauper sing Time after Time over and over again and wondering how in the hell anyone can get wound up listening to Time after Time.
Goosebumps and the chills. Like someone just walked over my grave. What the fuck am I doing?
“Sometimes you picture me-- I'm walking too far ahead. You're calling to me,
I can't hear what you've said-- Then you say--go slow-- I fall behind-- the second hand unwinds”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1VlRqeTkE0
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