Running, running backwards. Nostalgia is both liberating and crippling. I am overcome with emotions of times past. Why do these sensations get stored in their own compartment with collapsible walls? Special because it is no longer real and will never be again. Beautiful due to its impermanence. A little bit different, but also very much the same. The spirit has grown and I find that she was always there, inside of me looking for the ok to crawl out in rebirth. The rain, the cold, I feel him coming, my existence-shattering journey, and I am ready; though completely unaware of how far it will push me to ends of what I ever thought was capable.
Looking back once again, and as always, I am content. I cannot wish for what was, because it bears weight only in that moment. The seconds, days, years following lie only in reminiscence, but provide roots from which to sprout new realizations and sensations. Running, running forward.
(Sitting at my desk at work. Unable to wrap my mind around anything that is not completely creatively unbound).