Endings

I worry about endings.

I haven't wrote many endings in my time.
I've experienced a few; I don't think I'm good at them.

The times I've held on too long when things had ended, held me back.

Now I worry about the endings too much, and they are holding me back.

Nothing lasts forever. Our protective little mantra, our justification for letting go.
Evidence does suggest it is true.
That said, it should never prevent me from enjoying now.
I may quit my job someday, but not today. I may loose my job someday. But not today.
The sun may explode, but not today.
Love may come, love may go, but I shall cherish it always.

"Nothing lasts forever," they say,
"As if anything does," say I.

Today is a good day to live, and love, and experience.

Travel Light Manifesto II

That grey bus finally made it, just before the eastern star gently pushed away the darkness, cloaking the constellations in light. The light sneaks into my closed eye lids. I'm awake, and aware. I hear a diesel in the distance. Distant tires humming their own travel songs, carrying friends I may never know, to places I may glimpse briefly from a window of a car. Or through a window of a dreams that show familiar places stitched together to make a new place entirely.

The diesel gets closer. I finally open my eyes, the light has insisted on it. I look up the dusty road. The wind is calm; off duty, or on a break from moving the abandoned containers of travelers to their unknown destination. I stand up and pull on my backpack. My music player's battery gave out someplace in the night. No matter, I still remember the song I was listening to. I hear the diesel, but I can't see it yet. I walk out by the road, leaving my single suit case by the bench I had slept on that night, to look for the bus that didn't make it last night.

Gear shift, and climbing revs. The sound louder, growing, overtaking me far before the bus ever would. I scowl a little bit; I should be seeing the bus by now.

Then silence. Maybe, I wasn't waiting for a bus. I look to my left, and see a train platform. I'm certain it has been there all along. I pick up my suitcase and walk onto the platform. I hear the low rumble of a train. I'm no longer interested in taking the bus to the next place. I look down the rails, and see the headlights coming. The eastern star is risen fully now. I look the other way down the tracks; they curve away from the roads I thought I was going to travel.

What a welcome diversion. I am a little impatient to be moving again. My lack of sleep the night before, has me agitated. I look on the train platform. Dusty, like this town, yet it has more character than most of the town. This place has seen some interesting times and interesting travelers. I can't decide how long it's been around. I can definitely say I am not the first lost traveler it's been host to, nor will I be the last. I should come back here, when I have the things I think I need, to document it's story.

Sharpie on a glass divider, faded and scratched, but still visible. Cursive lettering, elegant and indulgent.
"My, how you've grown!"

Where will this train lead? I can't wait to find out.

April 15, 2014

"My how you've grown."

Time passes, and things change.
Perspectives change. Ideas change.
Feelings change.

All things change.
Some cyclically.
Some sporadically.
Erratic, malfunctioning, changes.


From what was once damaged beyond hope of repair,
Has healed and regained hope.

From the mind that was concerned about things like "right" and "wrong" with very little practicality or space in between,
A fragmented, polished, grey truth emerged.

But damn, does it good to feel alive.
Acting blindly, with no guarantee of anything good or bad, but acting anyway, because to fight change is pointless.

If nothing changed, but I acted honestly, I'd be happier still, than if everything changed, and I was still deceiving myself, that nothing had.

My how I've grown.