Chasing After the Wind

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Tremulous and tired
the restless soul is searching for a life it cannot find.
While the world at large keeps turning in monotony and darkness
and the people move in a circle they think is a straight path.
And the silence is too loud
and the heart is filled with emptiness
and the night has stretched forever full of meaningless pursuit.

But then, a spark, a glimmer,
from a death that yielded life
from a love that cannot lose.
From a final exhalation breath is restored to the land.
And the sun begins to rise
and the soul begins to sing
as it crawls
from haunted nights, to hopeful days.


In Hindsight…

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Sometimes I wonder if I will look back ten years from now and find my current self utterly ridiculous. I think this is likely as I sometimes look at myself now and think “you are utterly ridiculous”: every time I am sure that I have ruined my life and discover that I haven’t even ruined my day; each class that I am sure will be the source of my future failure until I remember that ten years from now, no one will want to see my college transcripts; when I become so melodramatic that I am actually able to realize my own melodrama, and inwardly roll my eyes all while still in the midst of a dramatic performance that would rival Ophelia or Lady Macbeth at their worst.

So, anyway, I sort of hope that future me will be amused by current me, that the things that are confusing will have become at least a little less fuzzy, and I will be able to smile good-naturedly at what a silly girl I was. I just want to be able to recognize character development. Then I could write one of those charming letters to my past self (which I will either be writing for some sort of publication in the home that I bought from my book sales, or from  the garage my sister was kind enough to convert into an apartment, scrawling on the back of a napkin as I sit waiting for my last package of ramen to cook).  In this letter I will  detail how naive I was and how wrong about nearly everything I turned out to be.  I may come across as a bit patronizing, but that’s ok because I will be writing  to me, and to a me that no longer exists.  Then again, maybe this letter will be in the form of a hologram,  and I will spend more time talking about how I have a hovercar to look forward to if I can just hang on through Linguistics 301.

I will probably finish by chiding myself for wasting time composing letters to my past self while it was still my present self, because that is utterly ridiculous.