Today, I feel like crumbling, like a Roman statue lost to time, encapsulated in sand, dirt, and grit, until excavated, touched by the sun, and developing deep seismic cracks all over my surface from the top to the bottom, then toppling down into one big, dusty pile of forgotten clay. I want a soft rain to fall down and morph me into a pit of mush and be soaked simultaneously back in to the earth.
Deep down, a desire to change is in all of us. Change forms, circumstances, thoughts, lives. Are we living the life we've been given or the life we've chosen, or both? There must be certainty in uncertainty. Certainly, we can say that our lives are a result of the choices that we've made, but how do we account for flukes, lucky draws, and chances? The person who smokes everyday for eighty years lives to be 100 and never gets lung cancer. The person who hates sweets and sugar, yet develops diabetes and has to have amputations above the knee. Rhyme or reason? Chocolate or vanilla?
I loathe those philosophical know-it-alls with their mantras of "if you can think it, you can do it." Can I, really? If I just "think" hard enough, will the malignancy in my dad's chest magically disappear? I have that power?
I am just stuck. I want to change so many things, but I know that changing one thing at all would topple my universe, but at what cost?
Oh, to be a shining star in the middle of a black hole.
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