How it is now. How it will be in the end.

As I make the transition from childhood to construction. To filling the endless void with squabbles of perspective. I increasingly feel the need to break from invisible bonds. To those who observe with open eyes, these chains may be as plain as the sun. These things that nurture me like umbilical chords.

I have to go. Not just an excursion and then back to the dead winters, sucking comforts. I need to roam. Storms hang. It is out there amongst the sickness and loneliness that I will find ways to resuscitate the lost memories that  build a worldly mind.

Depression is slipping away slowly, giving way to comfort. It scares me, because I have thought that comfort is just rotting away. Yes it is, and  it is simply our nature to rot and wither. To watch minutes and miles role behind forever; but by becoming a connoisseur of personal interactions and cultures (the thickest gravmorocco_bus1y of existence), I know life will blossom into an ecstasy of interest, and whence in the end I go to rest, my interaction with this world will lie behind  like a thousand sensation smeared novels, never to be read by un-endearing eyes. Forever sacred, as beautiful a biological creation as the mangled chaos of the trees or the ocean universe. In that moment with all the doubt inside me screaming in frustration off the energy of my creation, I will be god, and my lonely journey will have passed triumphantly.

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