Why did you finish it? It stands alone. My hand feels shaky as I quickly scribble out another picture.
Right now the world seems so fresh, and I feel young, only its too young, I feel like a child. I keep remembering my mother, I wonder if she too felt like this, like a wide eyed child walking through the dark without really knowing what will happen because of a few of her careless words or actions, not knowing that a man with integrity will always bring that integrity into love and not relent even then. Integrity is so sharp, it hurts so much when one is sharpened by it, or when one is just blown away. Why didn’t I think that a hand held in the dark was worth the small amount of time lost for fullfilling ones dreams? Why didn’t I think that the sick may need me?
No, I walked head first into my scariest self, the one that is built on a mistaken idea of my hopes and dreams, and refuses to relent, even when there is no real threat of destruction, even when it hurts those who I love the most. That hurtful sensitive anger at not being able to get a book or that firm annoyingness at wanting to stay up late, even when there is so much at stake.
Why is my hoping and dreaming self tied so closely to another self, one that is scary, spoiled, selfish and mean? One that can’t see what really matters then, dream or love? Things or people? Fame or true friend?
Why was it so hard to see at once that I act in a way that’s spoiled selfish and mean?
I am made of bricks, my head is numb, I am going off the slide, into the abyss of the sandbox. Please wait for me, please don’t leave me behind.