Breeze of wind
Weight of past
Desire to run
But never as fast
Don't Flee
Burn
Spark your eyes
Ignite your body
With velocity, we crash
Without it, we stagnate
Weakness glaring back
Strengths learning to pursue through pressure
What a drag….
A pain
This stupid game
A child's dream
An adults mind
Split, battered with banter
Tears have dried
Wails have hollowed
What is left?
Life.
Breath it.
Consume it.
Be sure to play your game and no one else's.
Yet that's why we believe we hold the pen
That we must write our own tales
But no
That's how we execute ourselves from the story
The story is the world, we are all it's characters
Lines, features, and memorable moments, ready when it counts
But only a few are prepared
Why?
Because we restrain ourselves
How?
The answer lies in the beginning
Yet it is solved with an end
If our gift is the present, why leave it wrapped?
Simple
Because being free means being endless, while still accepting an end
Let it go. Run. Let it all engulf you
The Breeze
The Wind
The Spark
Your Story
Make it burn.
Singed into the pages.
Make the world write your name.