These Scribbled Paths

As I sit and slowly sprawl my belongings out beside me, my mind strays between specifics and intensities, skirting the vague line of what is real and what is not.

It is as though life consists of millions of lines, crossing and spinning, twirling things out of proportion and cutting things up. Some days the lines are clear cut and easy to follow, while other days the path is twisted and complicated, causing you to lose your footing and stumble, to slowly become lost in the tedious scribbles. The end of the road is impossible to envision, clouded over by vague thoughts and ambitions and tainted by memories of past dreams.

Some things in life aren't meant to be forgotten. And yet, even after everything has changed, that which was unspoken remains true. Quiet glances and tear stained words often pass by unexplained and overlooked, and yet those words that remained silent are often the hardest to forget. They take root in our mind and grow and twist until the line between reality and fantasy is lost somewhere in a mess of memories, distorting our hopes for the future.

Perhaps that which was left behind to be forgotten will never truly disappear, for we are always lost between the tangled lines of past and future, unsure of the definition between reality and the cloudy haze of our perceptions.