I feel I got here too soon, I began flying when I should have learned to first walk. Now, I am unsure how to use my legs, now my wings are weary from soaring the vast sky.
How did I wander into this path. I remember the road that brought me here, but I often wonder if it was the only choice or just an option. At first it seemed like this was the only path, but now, even in doubt, it still seems like the only path… Or it could be I was afraid of choosing wrong, unsure of riding against the current, and so I let the waves choose for me.
My thoughts are my prison. I am always gazing at these walls, wandering about its confines. The longer I remain, the angrier I am at everything and everyone. I am often terrified of my capacity for rage, always rethinking past deeds and events, replaying scenes again and again, unable to let go.
So much rage buried beneath self control. Oftentimes I feel the spark of something down below, trying to… reaching… It wants the helm. I am afraid it might prevail someday.
I wonder what would happen if I stop caring? If I choose myself over everyone and everything. Derail, pave a completely different path, stop thinking and just act.
Emmalase.
Emmalase