Isopraxisms

The silence of what-could-have-been is honestly quite distracting. I could have already had the reason for being here. But as it stands this glass of vermouth is a satisfying enough distraction to counteract the feeling of bitterness. Two days more to go, and then what?

So I have been trying to fulfil some prophecy, or perhaps a major mistake, depending on how you look at it from which perspective. Flower shops have always been quite too schmaltzy for my taste, therefore it is best to not to be too wayward with it. I seemingly have lost all impulse of control in my short stay here, or perhaps I have always remained true to myself. Regardless I find myself unapologetic about this whole thing. I have waited patiently for this very moment. But not enough. It is never enough. The struggle will always continue perpetually into the long, dark night, soft rejections notwithstanding.

Have I not been clear about my intentions from the very beginning? Perhaps I am stalling towards my grave. But happiness only becomes real when you will it to. Nothing good comes from being idle. There is a long line of mischiefs waiting to overwhelm you elsewhere, and something about the way it operates seems kind of malicious. I have embodied in me the mantra of the calm and carrying on. That seems to be my sole refuge. Are these truly trying times? Perhaps not. I often find myself exaggerating the value of my heartaches. All I need to do is less.

Many times I hope that all these floundering about brings me something fruitful and... perhaps messy? But good lord let it be less of a pain that it used to be. Trying to find the middle ground to life is always bound to be quite erratic in nature, because, I will be quite frank about it, I have never really been, and never will be, the dreamy type. I am not anyone's cup of tea, their Harry Styles, their suave Casanova, only someone else's Calvin Declines, or their Papa Roach (Last Resort). That is my sole legacy. That is the type of person I was always sculpted to be, so in order for me to go against the grain I must push forward harder than I have to compared to the next guy. I have to make effort where effort is due. Does anyone even realise how hard is it to push above one's station and make it seem like you have always been passable as you have always been, perhaps, years ago, when youth became you and now escapes you?

This second vermouth is giving me another round for life, and I appreciate this small intimate moment provided for me by a stranger in the world far from mine own. I have discovered something new and beautiful. But perhaps laying low for awhile have provided me a strange and new outlook with life. I could care less about the repercussions. I feel like everything at home has been laid bare and obvious, that when I step foot upon it, only the ones I come to expect will burst forth with vigour and and honesty. I am not keen to go back to that just yet.

Would it be an arduous path to take if I ever find an alternative route? The one I personally carved for myself, because if allow myself to dwindle into the obvious then clearly that path is rife with so much pain and heartaches than I care to want. Sometimes you have to, in order to find the less menial way to go about it. I could prolong this adventure and run around vagrant to the will of the mind. It would be much more interesting, if only my status and finances were more understanding of my desires. Personally I hold no qualms about this whole experience. What you get is oftentimes what you care to deserve. The winds of change are more understanding than I care to realise, I care to accept. As of right now, I am somewhat of a vagabond already. Finding my joys in the most unlikely of places. Finding my purpose in the most auspicious of times. And it never ends, because nothing truly ever does. For years, I think about uncharted places we humans have not yet dared tread, but once we do, does it negate the experience of nothingness that place has endured without the presence of our intervention? It is always going to be a subjective pleasure of our reality to just want to be who we hoped we would be, and matters change on a daily basis, on a whim, not due to some constellation in the sky drawing lines on our pathways. It is always highly dependent on our behaviour, our luck, our hopes, and dreams, and situations, experiences, trials, feelings. All these factors form the foundation of our existence. The bells of the local church at three in the afternoon will never ring on their own accord. Someone has to step in, whether or not they be early late for a minute or so more.

There is no more heat left in this place. I probably have sucked it out of view after consuming the air out of this island. The vermouth melts in the corner on its own. I hear the footsteps of only the lonely, and fear the fools whose time has not yet passed.