Words are only painted fire

I worry that I might be making a hasty decision. I worry that I might be locking myself into a path I cannot find a way out of for a while. I waited too long for something built on shifting sands. I should have known better.

It’s easy to make plans and talk of futures to come. But when it does come, you’ll find it harder to follow through. Words raised in promise are harder to keep.

I’m afraid. So very afraid of how tangible the uncertainty is, afraid of how real the weight of a decision feels as it roils in my hands. It courses with such power, yet it swirls around so furiously unknowable.

Do I take that plunge, or do I wait again?

There are always days you feel that all the things you could be, escape you so easily. You read the letter and see those dreaded words again. Pain stabs at you again, it’s not a new occurrence. Yet it finds a way to wound as freshly as before.

But perhaps that’s how we learn, don’t we? Maybe that’s why we remember the falls better than we do kisses. I’m tired, everyone’s tired too. But it doesn’t stop. We can’t.
Not yet.

Burn it all down and move away. Let it all go, steel yourself and find another way. There’s nothing left to dwell on anymore.

So the first rejection letter is here. Strangely enough, I’m not exploding into a sobbing mess like the last time. Then again, this isn’t the first try, experience does dull the sting, I suppose. Well, there’s still two more up for grabs, a little hope to last the while at least.

I still have an idea of where I’m heading, I’ve still got  a decent head on my shoulders, even if they can’t fathom that. 

But for now, we wait. That’s all we could ever do.

Don’t make me wait this long. If it’s going to be a rejection, bloody get on with it. I can’t dwell on possibilities anymore, it’s killing me.

Okay how do I do this. I’m not someone who can stand frequent doses of people. I like comfortable silences, I like that sense of shared space, without the need for words to bridge us. She’s nice, I know, but I feel myself getting spooked with this constant need for a verbal exchange.

How do you even. How.

You look at yourself and think; where do the lives of others start, and where do you begin? You’ve always been malleable, turning with the times, swimming with the tides of circumstance. But you have to think, where do you begin? Who are you and what do you truly want?