Tales and Journeys

For some time, I have feared the loss of parts of myself. I have worried that central things like my imagination, persistency and sense of wonder are waning. “Am I growing up?” I’ve thought. Has my admit of defeat in love brought upon me irreversible changes, that strip me of the things I thought was the real me?

Time and thought can be dangerous tools. I love it when things make sense, so as time passes and sense doesn’t present itself, my mind paints sense. Just like those speculations. As more time passes, I’ve thought about it so much that it’s irrelevant whether I believe it’s true or not. It’s become part of my horizon, and my involuntary trust in it will make it true. I daresay that this really is how some of us grow up.

Through a misconception and a loss of hope.

I will not blame the world for my own shortcomings. I will not close my eyes to all that lies beyond. Through a recent twist of fate or coincidence, I’ve been given the chance to face my worst fears — people. It does wonders to my self-image, and I feel that fallen parts of myself are rising up.

I just lacked somewhere to use them.