The disappointment of youth is not consoled by the freedom that comes with age. Yesterdays love is gone, but tomorrow will bring new romance. Purpose seems to inconveniently elude my consciousness. Friends will betray for their own convenience, I will do the same to an undeserving friend. Loneliness is my consolation prize. I will drive the country roads counting the bugs as they gather on the windshield. The sun will shine down as it always does with nothing to interrupt its hot burning rage. I will continue to wonder about the past and wander reluctantly towards the future.
Freely I will wander pretending that there is limitless liberty, while deep down inside knowing there is none. The sun shines brightly outside and I will crawl shamefully into the comfort of my bed to sleep away the day. Hope hides in the closet below piles of rarely warn clothes, and boxes of unnecessary purchases. But there is no hope found there. Freedom is found on top of the dresser, and on the floor next to the bed.
Its true. I am lost. But no one understands. They don't care to listen and would not understand if I were able to make the effort to attempt and explain it. I usually have the best of intentions, for some reason it fails. Its like a dog licking to make friends. Its rarely appreciated but he means only the best.