Wednesday, August 07, 2013

More.

When I angst and cry and rage against the time that goes by,
people call me crazy, and take my lament for ungratefulness.

When I paint a verbal portrait of the world through the colors of nostalgia,
I am kindly, or harshly, reminded by all to stay in the present.
The same goes for my dreams and anxiousness for things to come.

But is there a greater sign of loving life?
I rage because I want more.
I angst because I want more.
I am nostalgic because I enjoyed living it.
I am projecting in the future because I want to live more.

I am unsatisfied, unfulfilled but not ungrateful.
I just want more because I enjoy it.
Every single laugh, every single breath, every single tear.
And the thought that I might progressively enjoy them less, that I am going to be less grateful for every moment, and that at some point there will be no more moments both stresses me and increases the value of the moments lived and the moments yet to be lived.

So I say, do not judge me harshly. I complain, I rage, I angst and elevate, all out of love.

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