The Impossible

For tonight I can sit back and relax; the week is over, I've drank a bottle of wine and I've just uncorked another. I've finished a movie and poured another glass. There was something in it that struck me, a recollection of places and things, of people and circumstances. It made real what felt like a shadow already, because it's so far away and it felt so long ago. There was always something in the moment that distracted me. Or maybe I have adjusted, not with life, but with the convenience this has afforded me.

There's something missing, however; this feels like a pause towards something I'm colliding into. I know I will have to go back, maybe not now, but in due time. Because there's nothing here for me, but a kind of happiness that seems superficial and popular. If I had wanted something to happen, it would've happened already.  When dogs were chasing me and guys were disrobing in front of me. I knew what I was here for and it was not for those.

This is a trait of mine that has always flummoxed and irritated me: I am a horse on blinders. There's a goal and nothing else. I can be the most stubborn and focused person you've ever met. I don't know exactly where my life will go; my cynicism has always gotten the better of me.  I had shied away from what could've been great, because there were other things in front of me that seemed more urgent.

Watching that movie, however, made me think. I want all of that. The kind that never gives up. Even if you run away, you'll find him patiently waiting at the last station. The infuriating, impossible, intoxicating kind of love. But reality overwhelms me. I know the kind of world I revolve in.

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