My life is young.
I sit here. Alone, but comfortable.
Thinking, I attempt to reason.
In this coffeeshop there are others, but others that are standing as more than one.

Watching cars pass; They go somewhere.
Streets to the left, streets to the right. Home is the heart of every man’s destination.

The frigid air; A friend with a bitter presence. The life of now, for it not be as hidden as you may think. But with an inner warmth, it swells to be free. Happiness is fragile, like the army we seek. To step large, we know what we want. Why can’t existence be the answer to this fight?

Is it natural to be unable to drink; The cup of today with welcoming arms? Live as simply, but as rich as it becomes. See no farther, than the struggle we create.

I throw my hands up. No more pro or epilogues. The spine of my life; binding all I’ve got. I try to change the ways that have become, but pages keep turning, even those that have been missing. Listen here, I can tell a story. But hopefullness fades, as only I can see past this cover. Judge, and flee. Reach out to be reached into.
My life is young.

Published from my iPhone 3G