I don't know what I'm doing. Well, I do, but, I don't know why. I'm fighting with myself, when I already know the outcome of the events I'm setting into motion. I know there is no harm in planting seeds of ideas that I want to bloom, but I am almost positive they won't. That somehow doesn't stop me from getting upset that they still never bloom.
*sigh* perhaps I'm just inebriated, but, well I know I should stop drinking but, there are just things that seem to me to be in need of finishing, or at least..worth pursuing.
I think the egregious error in this case is that I've assigned a face to my longing, and in doing so have made things so impossibly unattainable that I can't hope but for a mediocre failure instead of a fantastic one.
It is probably best to forget such notions but...I dunno, it seems I've the fools drive of hope that despite something as sure as the sun burning I'll still long to see it smothered.
*sigh* perhaps I'm just inebriated, but, well I know I should stop drinking but, there are just things that seem to me to be in need of finishing, or at least..worth pursuing.
I think the egregious error in this case is that I've assigned a face to my longing, and in doing so have made things so impossibly unattainable that I can't hope but for a mediocre failure instead of a fantastic one.
It is probably best to forget such notions but...I dunno, it seems I've the fools drive of hope that despite something as sure as the sun burning I'll still long to see it smothered.
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