Denial

Happiness aside, lives are complicated messes. Ideals directing desires, fumbling for coherency. Sometimes it seems my peers have some sort of insight, and maybe I just missed the meeting. But if so, that is theirs.

In all probability, it might maybe be my path. Corrupted by a daunting paralysis, or maybe just rejecting any happenstance of conviction.

These are my defining days. In my future planning, I imagined them with less patchwork monotony, and fewer coffee-shop afternoons.

And there I dilate my utmost emphatic ideal-spun-desires to hopefully spill, if only momentarily, into my perplexed soul. And instantaneously it all seems overwhelming, and contrary, and worst of all ridiculous. I sense the drives, the pulls and pushes of a life less squandered. I know one filled with love, a life of opportunity, and one of endeavor. But I cannot commit them in utmost pervidity, and they fade, I fade. In and out, I pulse and evaporate. A nothing and no one.

And awfully, might often prefer it.

If there is lack, I suppose I might rather deny it than have it be denied. If so, its hardly mysterious i find myself here again, in my defining days.