doesn't make a difference if we make it or not;
In the dilapidated, chaotic desk drawer of memories that is, quite assuredly, my sense of time, it seems that only a minute or two has passed, or perhaps six or seven months; it's hard to be sure. At any rate, my desk drawers have become quite a bit more cluttered, and my memories a little more chaotic, in the moments (or decades) since. And yet, some higher sense of order seems to be taking over. Feels as if the pieces tend to fall almost perfectly into place, only needing a little nudge here or there.
And what seems to matter is not so much where we're going, but how we get there. And even more so than that, what happens to us along the way.
It's hotel notepads and diner napkins and any other scraps of paper you manage to snatch up as you stop here and there.
Scattered thoughts scribbled hurriedly in the moments you steal away from the world.
So many people. So much noise. Yet, you've never felt more alone.
Or, so contentedly alone, at least.
The sense of calm and the quiet isolation is soothing, somehow. Comforting, somehow.
Makes you feel strong; independent; in-control.
Makes you feel like you're growing up.
For real, this time.
And what seems to matter is not so much where we're going, but how we get there. And even more so than that, what happens to us along the way.
It's hotel notepads and diner napkins and any other scraps of paper you manage to snatch up as you stop here and there.
Scattered thoughts scribbled hurriedly in the moments you steal away from the world.
So many people. So much noise. Yet, you've never felt more alone.
Or, so contentedly alone, at least.
The sense of calm and the quiet isolation is soothing, somehow. Comforting, somehow.
Makes you feel strong; independent; in-control.
Makes you feel like you're growing up.
For real, this time.