I have always wished that I could draw: blend pallets of colour. Watch the emergence of something totally new. I’ve always loved “the new”, but you would never guess it. Old clothes, older tunes, I always manage to purchase the same type of sweater over and over again – the same shoes - mainly because I have always dreaded endings.
The pain of letting go, for me, is... unbearable. In my own personal philosophy, there are NO endings. I’ve abolished them. So there.
As hard as I try, I can't help despair that one day I'll reach that particular fork in the road, the one from which there is no return. You are NOT correct if you are assuming that it’s death I am afraid of, at least not any more than anyone else.
It’s the finality of “The End”...of never seeing a sunset over a certain beach; forever closing a favourite book…Why is any of this important? I feel like have spent my entire time on this planet trying to find that which is real and true about my purpose here.
Endings are just not part of it: Beginnings start today.
And just how will I begin this glorious new day? Another January day bound to be as gray as it is long. Brain congested from the nightly turns of my subconscious, groping in the winter morning darkness, somehow I find a coffee (thanks b.) and prepare to welcome all that is new.
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