I always assumed that after my business here was completed, I would get the urge to sit down and reminisce about what it all meant, lament about how things might have been different, and engage in some keep-your-chin-up optimism. Instead, hosts of regrets come and find me empty. I just have nothing to say. I suppose it's all been said before these past few years, and given how downbeat the conclusions are, there's not much fun in repeating the process. (So far this post isn't giving me a lot of pleasure.) Indeed, what would I say to the person who wrote those hopeful things in '07? Turn back ship. Here be dragons, and far worse. But there's no sense in these fictional warnings. These past few years happened. With every step I took, my feet sank further into the ground. Now I don't even bother moving.
Where do I go now? The sentence is suspended, and in the past that would be cause for hope. I'm on my guard now, though, because I don't trust the rules of this world anymore. And yet, I persist in the seemingly in-erasable belief that time, that unending ocean of joy and sorrow, must have a stop. Thank God that old habits die hard, because I need something to hold onto.
Where do I go now? The sentence is suspended, and in the past that would be cause for hope. I'm on my guard now, though, because I don't trust the rules of this world anymore. And yet, I persist in the seemingly in-erasable belief that time, that unending ocean of joy and sorrow, must have a stop. Thank God that old habits die hard, because I need something to hold onto.
