A gun is pushing into the center of my back. I must do what I’m told. There’s a pressure inside me, an unknown force that strongholds my thoughts, stifles creativity, and makes me feel utterly powerless.
I’d like to perform a badass MMA move on it. Specifically, The Undertaker’s tombstone pile driver – ain’t nobody coming back from that.
There’s a lot that goes into life, in day, and in a moment, isn’t there? It’s unquantifiable and vast.
Today, I walked on the beach with my head mostly down, scanning the broken shells, smooth, flat rocks, and sand. It’s nice to amble without a plan or pace. How can I create more moments like this?
Why do I have to love so much? My heart aches as I think of the future and the losses I will inevitably face. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to bear those hurts.
I want time, aging, and the conveyor belt I’m on to stop, just for a moment. Please, I’d like to catch my breath.