What was lateral is now bent. Soon you discover the shift. What was lateral, now bent. In this day and age, people argue that mid-twenties is equivalent to putting down one’s foot. Kingsley could be right : twenty-something is when all our ideals come knocking on our doors, salesmen of opinions, options, horizons, special discounts, 10% off.
Then, the questions : does what come in always find a way out? And you look for answers in the ocean, that is big and deep and blue because of the sky’s blueness. Or in the rhymes that eclipse one’s reasons. Spaces and ages, freewheeling, catapulting, turning cartwheels falling down sick and nauseaous. Missing a chance, taking a chance, people breathe air, air breathing people.
But … hey, you know it already. You’ve seen it from rooftops of buildings and they don’t seem as intimidating as they look.
To write to be felt, not to be read. A galaxy exists between those who are taught, and those who learn. Just as lost as you are, whispers the air, somewhere. Could be in the recesses of the mind, could be at the tips of one’s pauses, could be carved into fingerprints. Always, or as much as you can. Synonyms perhaps. Between bus rides and daydreams, Life could be Life, a reality you never knew could exist.
