----
For a dozen dark eternities and across a million miles of
endless wastelands I walk, but these are just the jagged steps I take within my
mind. In an attempt to discover myself, I became lost. I explored the crevasse,
the gulf separating reality and fiction, and all of the emptiness held within
in the hopes of finding that which I have endlessly searched for, but I am only
further away from it now then when I began. I have found no meaning, no answers
to deep questions, and no awe-inspiring thought. In fact, I find more questions
without answers. I find the world turned around with bits flowing in directions
unimagined. I find a separation of fact and reality, where the conceptual
belief brings about a turn within the actual. I wonder how can this be. Can the
mind define the reality? I have no way of confirming my suspicions, but I can
feel the world bearing down upon my shoulders as my small belief goes against
the norm. So I turn and walk away.
My giving in is a submission to follow and not to lead, but
that is my choice. I will choose, when the time comes, to air my voice
alongside another. I will lend my support to a braver, stronger, heartier man
than I because he has the strength to fight the norm. His beliefs, though the
same as mine at one time, will change the world, even though I held them long
before he did. He will receive the credit, take the praise, and be glorified
for his accomplishments while I receive nothing. It does not bother me for I
have moved on. I have found other discoveries, but again I keep them to myself
and wait for another to bring them forth. Why you might ask? Because I lack the
means to validate my theories and the world does not support my ideas right
now. So I turn and walk away.
In my ignorance, I watched the world pass me by, but worse
yet I let my imagination die with each passing day. I have succumbed to the
norm. I look back now and realize it has all been by choice. My choices, made
for foolish reasons; made out of fear, made out of ignorance, made out of
weakness, were my own. I have no one to blame, but myself. So I have wasted my
life. What I do have in return, though, are the memories of bloodied feet and
longing loneliness of the miles I’ve walked across the endless waste that is my
mind. It is not a satisfying thought, but then few are when you only share them
with yourself.
And yet again, I turn and walk away.
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