Technicolor Jacket

Stagnation is nightmare fuel. Anything that settles into idleness breeds poisonous offspring. Still water makes parasites like mosquitoes that spread disease, algae that chokes the life below that stagnant surface. Losing momentum is threatening in that it can bring about imprisonment wherever the feet land last. To become stuck means to become a breeding ground for the toxic entities that hunt for it. Lingering in that state means the chance of escape diminishes until it is far from view. Stagnation is nightmare fuel and I must defend against it.

Easier said than done.

Activity and the desire to engage in it varies with the times. A step once taken with ease becomes burdensome quite early on into the journey. It is more preferable to rest. Settle in to the routine, lose sight of the target, give in to the beasts that come to proliferate. Doing so is too easy.

Sensitivity to time’s passing dulls until it is no more than white noise in the background. Months pass like days used to. Unfinished thoughts remain in a state of limbo never to be revisited. They disappear with the person that brought them into existence in the first place.

The face looking back from the reflection becomes a stranger. Who is she to me now but a dull unfinished chapter. She is the kind that should have ended long before. I want to take her off like a jacket. I want to leave her on the floor and don another. I want to reset like I’ve done many times before. My identity exists elsewhere. Find the right fit, don it and start over.

An identity cannot form if its bud is shed like a layer of unwanted cloth with every passing season.

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