Reckless prose.
There's a moment, and a cut on my finger, and for that instant I remember how fleeting the world is. I seek for and cling to wisps of security, as do we all, finding that balance between the things we desire and the things that are safe. But our security is all illusion, and it could all crumble in a moment. Nothing lasts, no force greater than time and life and death, not even--especially not--love.
Anyone's life could be gone in an instant. A car crash, a fall on a wet stair, any number of horrible accidents that crush our feeble sense of safety.
So I wonder, why cling to my illusions of safety at all? Is it better to grasp life by the blade, or better to be content--dissatisfied but safe within a comfort zone? I know I've been reading too many adventure books, but I still wonder what I could be capable of, if I didn't always make the safe, sensible choice.
I'm restless tonight. I can feel it, like knives under my skin, the urge to risk, to fight, to fuck. I want to run until I can't walk, and yet I hold myself back for the mere reason that the shoes I wore to work aren't intended for running.
Let me tell you, the world inside my mind is a nice place. All beauty and intensity, harsh lines and sharp edges. Things make sense there, and though they don't always end happily, they always fit neatly into their confines. There's none of the clumsy, soiled cruelty of real life, stories without plot or closure.
I want to take a risk. I want to reshape the universe in the palm of my hand. Let me tell you, were the world mine...
Anyone's life could be gone in an instant. A car crash, a fall on a wet stair, any number of horrible accidents that crush our feeble sense of safety.
So I wonder, why cling to my illusions of safety at all? Is it better to grasp life by the blade, or better to be content--dissatisfied but safe within a comfort zone? I know I've been reading too many adventure books, but I still wonder what I could be capable of, if I didn't always make the safe, sensible choice.
I'm restless tonight. I can feel it, like knives under my skin, the urge to risk, to fight, to fuck. I want to run until I can't walk, and yet I hold myself back for the mere reason that the shoes I wore to work aren't intended for running.
Let me tell you, the world inside my mind is a nice place. All beauty and intensity, harsh lines and sharp edges. Things make sense there, and though they don't always end happily, they always fit neatly into their confines. There's none of the clumsy, soiled cruelty of real life, stories without plot or closure.
I want to take a risk. I want to reshape the universe in the palm of my hand. Let me tell you, were the world mine...