The maze of the mundane

Time goes. It flows, and it slows, everything down. There’s a place you want to be, but time wont let you, not yet anyway. It rains and it pours, every minute, of every day. Pissing down, the clouds float ever on above your tired head. The days drift along, like ships lost at sea, shipwrecked and missing, eternally. It makes you weary, and it makes you dreary, being kept a prisoner, for so long. You’re searching, searching for the lighthouse, the place of safety, of salvation. It’s out there somewhere, and within it those autumn eyes are calling to you through the fog, shining brighter than a thousand burning lanterns. She’s calling you back to her arms, waiting for your safe return. But for now though, you struggle through the pale days, the maze of endless repetition that drags you down. Walking the same old streets, the same banal faces greet you every day. Alive only in dream and memory, everything else is without substance. The outside world is ugly, it’s limbo, blasted into their skulls. The others yearn for its touch, but you’ll have none of it. The only touch you desire is hers. The others gain pleasure through their tasks and chores, for they’re happy in their painless slavery. Hardworking little workers they are, ambassadors of service, of glowing professionalism. The adult world, a great tower of shit, a beacon of what you should surrender to. Monolithic and evil, the great reducer of true beauty. All of them bow down and worship it, they deny nature and give in to the mundane, to the passive waves of man-made hell. Life, the gift of possibility, the mystery of love, reduced to salary and work. Flush those turds down the river and never look back, let it all go. Endure those crushing moments, shine a light into those darkened days, keep it glowing when the darkness seems to be stretching on forever without end. Those times when all seems lost, when things seem to be falling apart. Keep the light within, keep it burning, and eventually that blue sky will find you. Be true to yourself, a flower in a garden of weeds. A lone bird flying against the wind. Outside, the rain keeps on pouring, keeps on dripping down the windowpane. Therapeutic it may be, it’s also numbing, succumbing. The stars hidden and the grey buildings doing everything they can to swallow you up, all of what you see is false. Broken avenues and lost causes, the apathy of forced attrition. The aged walls of flesh, places you were never meant to be. Roads you were never meant to walk. Time, it holds you in place ever still. The lighthouse, the keeper of all truths, of all secrets. It’s waiting- she’s waiting, somewhere. Close your eyes and picture the autumn leaves, see how they fall from the sighing trees. See how she stands there before you, heart and soul all sepia and forever. She, the one who walks with you in your dreams. The one you lay with, whose body you merge with beneath the moonlight. One day, when the truth of what you are comes naturally, the two of you will dance forever. You’ll dance, the only true dance there is.

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