Monotony

Recently a letter arrived for me, and concealed inside lay a promise for my future. Indeed, the present condition will not last forever: yet despite my knowledge of this, it is my emotions from which I attempt to escape. For while I am well aware that the future will inevitably hold more than I can imagine, a fear of the unknown lays siege over my heart. Doubt and uncertainty, coupled with a blind jump into an unfamiliar future has crippled my hope. The days have turned monotone, despite my crude awareness of the passing time. I am overwhelmed with a need to take advantage of each day, to learn more of everything around me; to soak up the details, to reminisce with those instigators of my memories while I am still surrounded by them.

Yet a frustrating nothingness has overtaken the days, pulling a blind over the beauty for which I so desperately seek. A desperate fear is pulling at my heart, filling my days with loneliness and shading the bright colors for which I yearn. Endlessly repeating; back and forth I am pulled in desperation. Days lost will never be replaced.

Days Go By

What do you do when the emotions you expected to have are not the ones that occur? When the world falls in pieces around you, and in an expectation of despair, you see hope? In an expectation of comfort; simply more unanswered questions to accompany the devastating fraying of reality. And the world collapses around you, falling in blocks of gray; each shaded light or dark to match your days. Each occurring event is just another piece to the endless puzzle: and each piece found simply provides more questions, slowly diminishing the hope for an answer. And despite the endless struggle you've endured to discover each piece, the reward is just another shade of gray to throw to the ground. Another fruitless hope, another wasted love.

The passage of time is inevitable and looming. Here I lay in wait, engulfed in a pile of monotone days that consume my being. Endless and gray is this wreckage pile of my abandoned dreams.

Exhaustion besets my tired mind.

Unspoken Hope

For the last to leave has lingered the longest,
Bidding his while as he silently prays
For the gods of time to wait as he watches
With his angel of beauty he patiently stays.

In silence they sit, for no words are bidden
The heart understands what the brain cannot say
His kind eyes chase out the fears she has hidden;
Two hands entwined where they peacefully lay.

These Endless Numbered Days

Time has converted its captivating moments to a melancholy blur, spinning uncontrollably past my unfocused, tired eyes. An ambivalent drudgery has momentarily captured me, binding me tight to its endless routine of fatigable, uninspired days. I fear this passage of time, for the ticking metronome neither slows nor offers hope.

Delivered in my Convictions

A letter rests in wait as I thoughtfully toy with its edges; it slowly gains a greater gravity the longer it weighs on my mind. A message crafted by my own hand lies inside, written months ago to foreshadow the inevitable passage of time. Several times before I had thrown it aside, promising myself that a later, more convenient time for opening it would arise.

In truth, I am terrified to open this landmark of convictions; the message concealed inside is far too brutal and honest for my current mindset to grapple with. For what force can open the window of one's own mind with a greater power than that of the ghost of a former self? To fling open this window is to allow the winds of change to whip across a weakened heart, bludgeoning the long- built walls of ignorance and excuses to create a crater of truth. An exposure of weakness, of humanity and inexcusable foolishness. Feared as it is, it is an exposure I had afore destined myself to meet. Hidden in the scribbles of my heart, this letter holds the outlines of a battle I fear I am not ready for.

And so, I sit in wait of my own strength of heart.

Yet, a cold realization is slowly overtaking me, for far too long have I promised myself of the approach of a more opportune time. As I starkly recognize the time is now, I slowly reach for this enveloped promise.

Resolutions

How can you capture a beautiful feeling? Good things come and go, time marches relentlessly on. The beauty becomes a memory; the memory both cherished and cursed. Sometimes one can't help but wonder what might have happened, what sudden change of past events could change their present being. More what ifs, more if onlys. Yet all we have is the present, another day mercifully granted to us for an unbeknownst reason.

Thus, my New Year's Resolution has emerged, the first of its kind to be uttered aloud from my lips. For if all we have is what is, then far too often this gift has been wasted. Difficult as this path has proven to be, I strike out with my own inherent stubbornness, accompanied by a whisper of hope, to discover what other simple gifts have been silently laid before me. Gifts too often overlooked afore.

Contentment then, is virtuous.