- Writing - vignettes
- Previous - 12. Misery
Here I am again, a month later and everything the same. My hands are cold, Iβm waiting for the train, Iβm annoyed to be spending another day in transit, yearning for stability, no easy options, sacrifices through every door, no path seems workable. Perhaps thatβs life, perhaps thatβs to be expected.
80 years old, on my deathbed, I remember my 29 year old self, all pride and indecision, so sure that great transformation is just around the corner, a great clicking into place, a lightning-strike moment of clarity and alignment, all aspects of life annealing into a kinkless forged perfection.
- Next - 14. Gold prospecting