F.Y.F.

2nd July 2011

Post with 1 note

F.Y.F.

There are parenthesis in life that when you look back, seem wonderfully fuzzy. Bits that haunt your mind in impulses, not in any particular order but randomly splendid, as if suggesting it may have been pure fantasy. And you have to ask yourself, was I actually there…and was it really that magical?

The answer whispers its name, ignoring that you can’t afford to veer off into indulging it. And it’s more productive to blame your imagination for taking full advantage of its play time and getting a little carried away, than to admit the dream in fact, was Real and is Over. To hint at such suffocates even your will to move.

So you file away memories that further define you and lock up tangible proofs, plunging into one of the many delusions we all nurture. Confining them to the peripherals of your mind lends the ability to continue past existence onto actual living. There they sit, unstirred and disregarded, yet unable to dissolve into non-existence.

And you continue to survive, like you have countless times before.

In.My.Mind

F.Y.F.