Uneasy, uneven. Semi-controlling the breathing as the shadows pass by again. It’s not a fear, but it’s also not a game.
I’m heartened by remembering the doubt that’s accompanied every previous endeavour, anywhere it goes (because no endeavour can be allowed to travel alone). This time is no different to last time, and the only difference from the first time is that I was ten years younger, still had motivation and was still driven by the hunger.
I used to believe in what I was doing. Now it’s less about belief and more about the things that I’m avoiding. It’s less about my aim, my rightful place on the pantheon, it’s less about trying not to be forgotten. This time it’s just an attempt to keep moving. Keep surrounding myself with some kind of purpose, keep some control so I don’t end up spinning into oblivion. I don’t want kids, I don’t want mortgage. I don’t mind getting older if the graphics on my gaming system keep getting bolder. I don’t want to write in rhyme, because I don’t like to read it back in my own voice and remember how I shoe-horned the words into the rhythm and the time. Christ.
Still, pushing on is the order of the day. The drive is less distinct, the imagery is blurred and I don’t think it sticks. But never mind. Onwards should still be all I know, even if the reason’s taken it upon itself to go.
We will prevail.