Time dripped away like blood. Old men dried up and died. ~Yukio Mishima
My blood droplets stain Earth creating a wavy line following me on my daily journeys. I would love to backtrack to see all the places my mind lost itself but those drops either dried on a rock that was kicked away by history, were lapped up by insects, flies mostly who then laid a slew of maggots, or were absorbed by thirsty Earth and recycled into other beings.
To double back and see where I have been, to try and understand the journey pushing me along from cradle to now would be nothing more than a fool’s errand for I would deny my destiny by living in my past, a past that cannot be altered now nor would I shift the bloodline if I could.
I am happy with who I am, at least, content with my location in the journey. I have grown comfortable with my quirks, am eager to pursue my vision of possible tomorrow tomorrows. And I don’t want to waste my remaining blood, become exsanguinated living past dreams when new fantasies are beckoning on my horizon. If I don’t continue walking, my blood will pool at my feet and I will drown in a pool of nostalgia.