Razorblades and Matchstickes
Here it is! Spring, when things that were dormant now wake from slumber. Each new flower is visited by a passer-bye and each live journal entry gets longer and longer to read. Rilke had it right (of course), that spring is painful. Each change of season is seemingly always greeted by destitution, love, allergies, and heartbreak. Each season becomes a lifetime, and each day seems less and less important.
I've always been scared of this moment; I am starting to feel my age wear on me. Things are starting to become jumbled in my head, in my life, in my dreams. I hope to give everything up when I get out of school, at least for a while. It is time to do something with life, knowledge, and aptitude. It is time to do something.
I feel the change.
I've always been scared of this moment; I am starting to feel my age wear on me. Things are starting to become jumbled in my head, in my life, in my dreams. I hope to give everything up when I get out of school, at least for a while. It is time to do something with life, knowledge, and aptitude. It is time to do something.
I feel the change.