The little sacrifices we make for the lives that we want. Our paths are littered with just as many bodies as they are rose petals. Some days I sound the trumpet in triumph and other days I close the blinds in dismay. Perhaps the answers we claw for aren’t the meaning of life or the cure for death, it’s the way off this wheel of travesty. How may we have what we seek without paying the tolls?
But who knows who I’d be without the opportunity and the challenge to start anew. I’m not sure I’m keen to know her, I’m certain she’d be less interesting. Same bleeding heart, minus the calloused feet and the moony eyes.
I’d be remiss to pretend that I don’t look forward to the future that is made possible by the bloodshed of my always bleeding heart and my tear stained nose. There will come a day when the price I’ve paid melds into the ledger of my years. But right now, the right choice feels like a failure. Sometimes things don’t come together, and I can make myself comfortable with that. Just as soon as this horizon is behind me.
The end of every year is far and away a celebration of what we gained. But in the quiet instances between the cheers, I indulge in somber moments to mourn what I lost to find them. Between the boom of the fireworks and the intoxicated counting, I’ll find one for you.