The girl is the world

The girl is the world... a part of me that wants, that desires... it manifests itself in people, in objects or emotions. You take these little pieces of yourself and scatter them through everything you've ever known in your life, and when you leave, those pieces of yourself become memories. And memories come back to haunt you...

I could be doing a lot with my life right now, but the motivation just isn't there. I'm too busy trying to deal with my own emotions and getting frustrated that I can't get the upper hand. It's what I deserve though, it's my own fault I allowed the things I can't understand to determine my own well-being... implying I ever had control over my own life and desires in the first place, but now here I am, unsatisfied with my situation, knowing that I can't really *do* anything without moving on, and... well, doing stuff. Catch 22 right there.

Forgive these next few paragraphs, they're going to feel a little bit like a rant, but I feel it's important I lay down my train of thought... people want power. Not exactly power, but there's no word for the concept I'm trying to convey to my knowledge. People want the ability to move on, the power to remove their obstacles so they can return to their calm glide. Every negative emotion I've ever known was due to a realization of an obstacle, and the more I realize that I've hit the same obstacle over and over again, the worse the feeling becomes. The worst of it becomes so painful that it feels like a physical thing, churning inside your chest, trying to burst out, or rather eat you from the inside out.

But power... capacity... growth... there must be a proper identifier here, I refuse to believe my thoughts on this matter are yet another dead end that will destroy me like all the others. What is this desire... this... realization of empowerment, this... dancing muse playing to our heart's own violin... it must be something that can be realized. How can I feed something that I can't even conceptualize properly? Is that why it always dies?

Is it the mother of inspiration? The child of novelty? Do I want so badly to draw out my situation that my shadow chains and frees it as it pleases? How can some be so brilliant and others so withdrawn? How are some people so in tune with this dream-like apparition? Have you ever seen someone transcend their situation so fluently without the aid of this creative maestro?

It's like she's always there, flashing in the corner of my eye, reminding me that I'm not alone, that I have a part to play... reminding me that I'm just floating down this river of time, that trying to float upstream is futile, and swimming downstream will only end you more quickly... all she really wants you to do is stay afloat, with dignity and composure.

There's no language to define her nor her behavior... only vague artistic notions can even hope to give others a glimpse of it, and no matter how clever the wordplay, the attempt seems folly. But as I sit here trying to make something out of seemingly nothing, should I shy away from the obstacle that brought me to this place, or face it head on? Somehow the very question turns the obstacle into a friendly face, a familiar companion on your road throughout the unknown... Is this how it was meant to be? Is this the true nature of the enemy? Is knowing the enemy the only way to truly know yourself?

I'm tired of the struggle but I'm not tired of the fight... Somehow, some way, I must let composure flow over me once again, instead of fighting my demons, I must learn to dance with them. Instead of sitting here in apathetic disquiet, I must venture forward by taking a deep breath and putting one leg in front of the other.