cling onto what you’ve got and don’t try to be something you’re not.
if life’s a big story, what is its moral?
it’s the end of one book in your life,
though some of the characters will continue into the next.
no-one knows who, though,
because that book is yet to be written,
and you only learn from it as it unfolds.
i’m going walkabouts
to a strange place and i don’t really know where.
it’s both a physical and mental place;
i’ll have to wander until i know my way around.
who knows where i’ll end up,
perhaps distanced from anyone else
(and oblivious to any new characters who might turn up).
i might bury myself in the crumpled pages of an older book,
sink between the lines and into the fabric of the book itself
and just relive past moments. i’ll disappear
faster than a tonne weight into quicksand.
i will live breathe think nostalgia,
and if i think hard enough i might even think i’m back there.
the good times. the past.
here’s to what has been. the simple times.
let’s just hope when i look back i don’t turn to salt.