There's nothing left to do but wait,

To live the now longing for a day ahead.

But we shouldn't organize life around pivotal moments.

Life, should bear the connotation of a flow.

Life is a connected history,

Not blips of action arranged in a linear fashion.

Then again, I do nothing but wait.

I'm the one thats always blotting out the middle parts,

Rushing to the end of those days so that I can...

wait

Is that my curse?

Laze through rushing?

Am I really too detached to stop?

It seems like I skip by things that past people's couldnt have.

But maybe it's not my haste,

Maybe,

(though i dont even pretend like these are original thoughts)

We've all become detached from our physical plane.

Not entirely, of course.

But it does make sense, doesn't it?

This does resonate, right?

Or maybe it's just my camp that sleeps with headphones and looks outside through screens.

But I doubt it.

That seems like a cop-out.

Well anyway,

This is just mind vomit,

The great symptom of solitude,

Or perhaps a side-affect,

Who knows.

All i know is that i still refuse,

I refuse to allow myself to become absorbed into the world currently around me.

I will get out.

I will stand out.

But the higher you climb,

The quicker you find a change in temperature and air pressure,

and your ears start to pop.

The only cure for solitude is a leader, a follower, a companion

as god himself spoke to us through the highly religious traditions of cliches.

All we need is one, a whole and real person to show the photographs of your world,

And spend the time it takes to explain them.

Then we can all start our expedition into the farthest reaches of our potential,

and it will now be our mind erupting.

'it's the only way we can all get better, don't you think dear?'

I was already tied,

Up, not down,

With many fulfilled needs serving as my bonds,

And the bonds themselves serving as sources for happiness.

But they have cut my ropes,

Now I'm falling from far above.