Page XXIII

The Impractical Naturalist

Some things are better left unwritten. An introverts prospective, but courteous enough to remain silent until something of interest can be said. Although, I cannot argue the possibility of a decent argument. To remain bound and wound, tighter then a jar of flies; is unpleasantly so. Timid to the flighty final moments just before it all goes to hell in a hand basket. The secret antidote may very well be to let it all go. Notoriously, that can often be the most challenging part.

Adjustment disorder? Seems logical enough, considering the only thing I find consistent is inconsistency. I’ve learned to carelessly accept, just in case it does hold merit for enjoying the simple things. But even after all precautions have been cast aside, we eventually find ourselves humming along to yet another restless tune, “near the end and just ain’t got the time”. Sounds vaguely familiar, as I am perpetually waisted and can never find my way home.

So, what are we so petrified of? A future copious of anxieties based off of our remote past? Surely not a way to live. Uncanny to a sadistic pattern that blocks the purest existence of the present. The now, this very moment; it is the only reality we can ever exist in. All else is false, make believe; the unobtainable silver screen moment. And even that moment has just preciously pasted.

A fine-tuned instrument; this body may grow frail but if I keep my mind keen and salient, the endeavors of the kindred heart may eventually prevail.

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