(no subject)
its not the light at the end of the tunnel; its the gruesome clarity once you reach it.
standing at the open mouth, with all the spiraling dark behind you, at the threshold of the sunlight, squinting while your eyes adjust.
tomorrow morning comes into vision, the outlines of the trees and the houses and the clocks and the calendars and the to-do lists. this was the prize, this is what you were so patiently running towards.
but we celebrate our predetermined regret and confliction. raise our glasses in a toast to making mistakes.
even at the time, we knew it was nights like that that people spend their lives seeking. your life consists of one after another, the only memories so specific and clear they punctuate the blurred haze of the seasons and themes of each phase of life.
so we celebrate, dive in headfirst through a ring of circling shark fins, accelerate and unfasten our seatbelts; we blindfold ourselves and fall backward, lean into the fire, stare into the face of an oncoming train.
standing at the open mouth, with all the spiraling dark behind you, at the threshold of the sunlight, squinting while your eyes adjust.
tomorrow morning comes into vision, the outlines of the trees and the houses and the clocks and the calendars and the to-do lists. this was the prize, this is what you were so patiently running towards.
but we celebrate our predetermined regret and confliction. raise our glasses in a toast to making mistakes.
even at the time, we knew it was nights like that that people spend their lives seeking. your life consists of one after another, the only memories so specific and clear they punctuate the blurred haze of the seasons and themes of each phase of life.
so we celebrate, dive in headfirst through a ring of circling shark fins, accelerate and unfasten our seatbelts; we blindfold ourselves and fall backward, lean into the fire, stare into the face of an oncoming train.