Someday my prince

One day when I cannot stand it anymore I'll either be brave and jump
Or be a coward and jump

Leaving behind one way or another this crippling bitterness that seem to have settled in my heart.
Thinking about old age and death is for when you're not fighting. Too much underserved leisure time. We pay a price.
Must we explore all of our own recesses, all of our creases to get a sense of who we are and feel that life is indeed a gift?

Must we be always 100 percent awake and aware? When is the time for drifting and wandering? When is the time to lie down? When is the time for softness, slowness and ushered whispers? Is it forbidden to the lazy ones, the cowards, the closeted?

When we're not fighting our way out

we stay in limbo and we feel it
so
acutely.

The very second we stop trying we start falling. The closest we can get to victory is in the movement of fighting. But victory itself is out of reach and we must accept it.

But victory itself is 

out of reach

and we must accept it.

An imaginary aim to keep us sane.

We dream of sublime rewards, of paradises
We tell ourselves our best lies
to ward off despair.