L’intention

With the past years snug in my back pocket, I take a pause and I wonder, while my mind speeds through my body’s length, what facet of me has decently inched toward utopia? For the better part, yes, I am undoubtedly happier, or at least I play the role with flawlessness. But I am nowhere near that said, intended resting point that will colour my stone in the regal hues of a life well lived.

I am but a face

I will create what I will intend.

But for said time, I am entombed in a bubble of bricks. Accepting, willing without abscond. I pave the way for myself into walls. Swallow my blood and retrace these steps into another end of disappointment. I am a wretched smile, for my veins carry the anguish along with the life. Favours not met, consciousness at unease.

Today, I find myself envying the people I sworn to never become. An oath so sure and lasting. Tarnished.

And with the lack of understanding, the depths of my well has just gotten deeper. Darker.

Sincerely,

Jinn

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