Progress?
At some point a person has to let up, be happy and watch ones past melt into the worried wrinkles that crinkle at the edge of a good time.
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Puffing Pachyderm
Just lost; occasionally looking for an unclear something or overwhelmed nothing. Mostly distracted trying to chase the wind, an equally impossible task. Never prepared, it slips over and under all about the room never taking shape or forming thought. Scared to move past predictable, dreading the inevitable reoccurrence of the past. Personal torture undefined by tomorrows ideals or today's good fortune. Every nightmare rooted in yesterdays folly. Fear a weight to the heart spawned from multitudes of misinformed decisions. Roaming lost forever.
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