Seasons come like seasons go...

Life is like the river: endlessly moving on, ever seeking, exploring, pushing, overflowing its banks, penetrating every crevice with its water. Impermanent, ceaselessly trying to penetrate, to break down any walls, behind which there is confusion and misery. 

I'm still here. The doubt, the fear, the heartbreak, the depression, the anxiety, the insecurity: it didn’t win. The people who hurt me and let me down: they didn’t win. The disappointment and the failure, and the hopes and deferred dreams: they didn’t win either. I'm not really who I wanted to become, but I'm not someone I entirely hate either. I guess what I'm try to say, is that I'm doing my best, with what I've been given. That's all I can really do. Move on, go forward, try to find more meaning, more joy, more love. Hopefully some more laughs, and a deep awareness, that life moves so quickly: I hope I don't miss it.

We'll be frozen in time...

I can't wish away the scars...

And do you ever feel the motion?

And have you ever seen the sun,

setting fire across the ocean?

And I will promise you, 

the best is yet to come.

And if I have to wait a moment,

let the ache fall from my heart,

because I can't give up on forever.

And if I stay a loaded gun,

because I can't live with now or never.

The fate of Karr...

If I imagine myself at the finish line, it seems almost unfathomable I'll ever be able to finish. It just feels like it was something I reached for without truly understanding my limitations. A dream I had without realising what it means to actually live it. So now I am left with a choice. Brute-force my way to some sort of conclusion, or walk away from something that was never really mine in the first place. Or maybe I'm being too hard on myself again? Maybe the only rule is that I don't remain still. That I start with the first page, and then maybe tomorrow, try to finish the second one. And then maybe the third. And then maybe I end up somewhere I can't imagine. Maybe.

If you've got a flag, plant it in the ground...

The more I kick and scream, bite, scratch and try to run away, the darker the skies seem to get. It is now very clearly evident, that I cannot run away from my pain and I cannot outrun the storm. The rain keeps falling, the skies keep trembling, and I am caught in the thick of it. But as it turns out, the water does not scare me anymore. I have learnt to swim. Against the current, with the current, without the current. I am still here, and I am in no rush to go anywhere. So stay awhile, and listen; how the boy became a man, and if luck remained on his side, how the man will become an elder. Quite the story, actually. 

Put in love, put in hours...

He is like that spark of fire, that fell on a leaf and burnt the whole tree down gradually. Look at him now, all you can see is the memories and reflections of a tree that stood tall and strong once before. But he will not let you win. He will show you, how life can rise again from just ashes and dust.

The rain began to fall harder, and it distracted me. I tried to pull myself back, because I felt on the verge of understanding something large and important. It seemed to me that this moment, the light and wind, the sweep of fields, the falling of the sky, captured a sort of life that I have longed for, a life of order and harsh beauty. It seemed instead to be the thing for which I must daily give up my life, an act of submission to something I could not name and only rarely, in moments such as these, have a sense of. Life during these moments seemed neither lost nor ruined but a power to be shared. And devoured.

Give you all that I have...

Forgive me if I jump...

I'm the trouble ahead,

and I scream in my sleep.

You're putting money on red, 

I'm a sure bet at a losing streak.

I keep showing you doors, 

but you can't open them up.

because it gеts harder to see me,

the closеr you try to look.

Not coming back here anymore...

Now that you're standing right here...

He wondered if some part of him knew what was waiting for him. That he would never be a gentle grower of things, or someone who burned like fire - but that he would be quiet and enduring and as faceted as the night. That he would have beauty, for those who knew where to look, and if people didn't bother to look, but only to fear it, then he didn't particularly care for them, anyway. He wonders if, even in his despair and hopelessness, he was never truly alone. He wonders if he was looking for this place - looking for you all. The people who look at the stars and wish. The stars who listen, and the dreams that are answered.