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detatched

I can feel my paths crumbling away into dust as my feet move
beyond my control

I miss the mundane.


Back in those days I wasn’t waiting for my life to start,
I was wondering, “how do I hold onto this forever?”
thinking nothing would ever have to change
if I didn’t let it,


Like now that I could see freedom
I would have any control.

Forgiveness isn’t reconciliation
Freedom isn’t power
Nostalgia isn’t yearning but sometimes they go hand in hand

The quiet pain of living 
with myself and my choices;
instead of many potential futures,
just one. Surrounded by the graves
of past potentials that never were.
Knowing I made every move to get here, wondering,
“Did I pick the right one?”

Time is destruction
It crushes on with the force of inevitability

 

GZ

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