(no subject)
marching onward, eyes fixed forward, grim and determined, a different kind of blindness. same way a sad song on repeat is a different kind of silence. we carry nothing but a body and a memory, but what has weighed heaviest is the anxious uncertainty of our destination. truth is, i’ve stopped worrying about that while you have allowed it to consume and confuse you. i am a man of short, deliberate steps which you translate as hesitance and indolence. you, however, champion great leaps forward and power moves, and although i may have questioned your methods, i have always respected your motives. you sprint past me at times, but I always end up catching up to you while you catch your breath. it all evens out, except for the fact that you tire far more easily these days.