The passing of the spring ignited a self-imposed solitude ushering in the silent summer.
Many days turning into rinse and repeat activities now sapping every small part of my passion I have yet to leave with someone else or on the bench of a bus seat.
Disjointed portions of my ears left at some concert, now a distant memory that keeps me from seeking out new and exciting things.
More like an old pair of shoes that I wished still fit with a childlike love of anything reliable and neat.
I stare at them though, through a dirty window covered from years of neglect while I sigh and put on my new stylish 30 something heels before I face each new day.
I miss the comfort of the non-conformity I once sought so religiously with every fiber of my wanton being.
Carrying a burden, I wonder how I will find this transition I’m supposed to seek out of this juxtaposed self-inflicted ideology of who I was meant to be.
I feel like it is killing every living bit of the passionate parts of the most hidden fragments of this convoluted essence I believe I keep.
It is dropping me into to time warps not suited for travel by humans or even living beings because it robs the days of cheerfulness and proficiencies.
It leaves me bitter, tired, and lost in the long noted sea of spiteful replications of oddly transposed memories that no longer seem like mine to me.
Alas, the feeling proves to be fleeting and leaves with the last of my coffee every morning, down my outdated kitchen sink with only the flick of my wrist like it never was a thought or a mention of anything.
Occasionally though, I smile on Fridays and think; if only it were a better time machine and I could use it properly and hold on to that passion I can’t release.
Photo : davidcoxon