Slides by. That’s what time does, slicker than snot from a Boston terrier’s snoz. Looking back on all my stupid, and it’s a ponderous pile, I give up on worrying about it. The past is a vapor, and it likes to sneak up on a fellow if he’s prone to wallowing. Like that creaky floor, all full of phantom footfalls, nothing ever walks up to your face unless you’re looking back. I’m giving up the ghost of my failures, not missing my missteps and taking my whoopings as a lesson.
Time to make new mistakes and forge ahead blindly with a fuller comprehension of the diminishing opportunity and revel in the fight. Forget the fear and press toward the things I want remembered for. I’m giving up the ghosts that haunt me, the former selfs that moor me, I do not need what others say, but I need fulfilled.
My fulfillment is simple, to create untethered to a damned thing other than creating. That’s it. Simple. Creation is my goal.