I can't become a butterfly
if I'm not a caterpillar first.
I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong, because I really feel as if I'm giving it my all. Maybe there comes a point in all of our lives, when we have to start thinking of settling for less than we dream of, and embrace the path life is so bent on pushing upon us. Maybe that time has come for me, maybe I was never meant to touch the sky. What hurts the most though, is that I can never be sure if it's right to give up or if all I need to do is hold on a little longer. If this truly is the end, then it shall come crumbling down faster than you can grasp, and the damage done will be greater than anything we have survived before. Maybe that's the key. Maybe this time, we're not meant to make it out alive.
He had always been an unusual boy, with a chameleon soul. No moral compas pointing due north. No fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that is as wide and wavering as the ocean. Since he was young he felt like he was destined for more, so he allowed himself to dream bigger than most, and live dangerously close to the edge. Sometimes he'd balance it perfectly, sometimes he'd fall over, yet always, without pause, he'd keep walking. And so he shall do now - march on towards whatever might come next.
