Reflection on a last night.

The rustle of the wind in the trees makes me want to go out and stand beneith the willow by the lake again and drink in the moonlight.


4 years ends tonight. Moving on to a new place.

And I wonder... when does it start feeling real?

At 27 years, why do I feel like I'm still just waiting for things to begin?


[As my brain's just kinda sitting there wondering 'So when does this 'real life' thing actualy start?]

[Never. It's a myth]

[Tis what I thought. It's kinda like 'wait, what do you mean it's been 4 years? Didn't we just graduate?]

[Most people define real life as the stage of life in which they cease to evolve, and settle into a rut. I consider it a lame way of rationalizing having no ambition]

[Where as I keep thinking real life will be when things truely begin. When theyreally start evolving.]

If life is just a series of "now" with a promise of "later," things like time just seem to melt in the wind, ya know?



Once this change passes... Will it really be change anymore?

Am I still just watching the trains go by, standing still, even as I move along?

Dancing through the world of illusion, seaching for what is real. Wondering if what I've found is true, or just another layer of illusion.


The echo of stucture'll start up again soon. The outline of what feels comfortable... what is expected, what will move you further down that path.

One foot in, one foot out. Drifting between worlds that have no walls, just thoughts and ideas making insubstantial boundries of feeling.

A twlight of sorts. Forever drifting back and forth like a leaf dancing upon the wind.

The walls are thin, tonight, I think.