It is coming to an end, another year, another trip around the sun, and another batch of four seasons, like winter, spring, summer, and fall.
I am grateful for this – you, the seasons, another trip around the sun, and let’s not forget the lessons we’ve learned together.
I am growing distant from the places of my yesterday. I’m not where I was and as for where I want to be, well, I’m not there.
Not yet.
But I’m trying.
Last year was like another lifetime ago, and the year before is even further in the distance, which is strange to me. I know I was there.
I know that I was part of something.
At the same time, the last few years have been like being part of a story in some interactive screenplay. It’s like being part of a show, or a play on stage where I was both the director, the cast, a part of a captivated audience, and to some degree, I think as if I was someone who snuck into the balcony of an old movie theater without paying for my ticket.
However, rest assured that no ticket is ever free, even when you think you snuck past the ushers, and took a turn and hid behind the curtains, there is no way to beat the bill.
Everyone pays for their ticket.
Or I can say that life is like trying to sneak by the conductors on a train. No one can hide from the fare, and no one can duck the system forever.
More to my point, no one can ride an entire trip while hiding in the bathroom of an early train into Grand Central Station.
Someone is always going to come around.
And collect. . . .
Every meal has a price. Everything comes with an action and, of course, with every action is a reaction to which I often find myself shaking my head or shaking my fists at the sky. At other times, I find myself trying to hide from the exposure of a local shakedown because everyone has a scam. I find myself trying to duck or keep a low-profile, or in other words, I’m trying to beat the consequences of an unfair choice, which only makes me human, or at least an honest one. Even if I’m being dishonest, I’m still part of a species, frightened and mad, and looking to pull a trick or make a move.
If I can.
I do not deny my yin and yang, or the split between my good and evil. I am selfish. I am wholesome. I am giving. I am taking. I am part of an imbalanced force at times. I am also a voice of reason, when I least expect it.
I am what I call a compilation of events. I am a series of lessons, biases, moment and memories. I am a collection of feelings, thoughts, emotions and passion.
As well, I am the sum of my aspiration, and doubts. I am a dreamer. I am afraid. I am brave and cowardly cautions. While taking into consideration the bouts of my early trauma and my later stress disorders, I am a boy, a man, and somewhere in-between, I am the cause of either my own joy or pain.
Then again, this makes me no different from the rest of the world. I am wishful and somehow, I am doubtful about dreams that I had always wished would come true.
The world is moving, and we all know this is happening. We know that the morning comes, followed by midday, which becomes the afternoon, followed by the sunset, and then the evening takes place.
I see life is the same. We are born, which is the morning of our life.
We are like the different positions of the sun throughout the day. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. This will be us one day, making our descent or making our way to our final destination until, at last, we rest or we sleep.
It is the middle that I care about. The in-between
I have to fill this well. Otherwise, life is void or empty.
The beginning and the end or only the bookends of our life. We have to fill the in-between. We have to live.
Only, some people go their entire lives and never live, not even once.
Some people stand at the pool and dip their toes, but never take the plunge.
Some never even dare to go that far.
Some do. Some don’t.
Some live out loud and some live in an unknown silence. Some throw caution to the wind and some never dare to revel themselves, never aiming for the sky, never reaching for the stars, and never trying to sink their teeth into the meat of life.
Some play it safe and some live as if each day is their last. Some learn to love, and some will withhold their love.
Some will do this, as if love is too valuable, too precious, like a rare but vulnerable commodity, and some will never show their love because of this. Some will never dare to give their love because, to them, their heart is too fragile. The fear of love being unreturned or not enough is too overpowering for them to take the risk.
I am alive for another turn around the sun. I have made it this far and, of course, I am certain and dedicated enough to report that I have not come this far, just to go this far.
I can have nothing and still have everything. Or, I can have the world and be as worthless as a man on the street, asking for change in the bottomless pit of homeless despair.
I have seen you more times than I can figure. I have known you my entire life. I am you.
At the same time, you are the world that I dream about. You are the love of my life. You are the answer to my prayers, and you are the reason I can stand up or believe that I have what it takes, just to make it through another day.
I am not so far away from you. I am with you. Or should I say that you are with me. I say this because I keep you close to my heart.
No one else knows what you know and no one else has seen what you have seen.
I cannot hide from you nor would it work if I tried to hide from you because deep down, I know you can see me. I know that you see what’s in my heart, including my fears and weakness. Although I am frightened, there is something that you have offered me which is more than a vest or a shield.
I cannot say how I know this or why I believe in you.
I just do.
It is coming to an end. Another year gone.
Another one on the way.
What are we going to do about the two of us?
How are we going to spend the rest of our lives?
Are we going to play it safe?
Or can we throw it to the wind and say “fuck it!”
Oh, and by the way,
It’s time to ante up . . .
Besides –
The suspense is killing me.
The Written Addiction 