we sip frozen lemonade

relaxing in our living room

happy from a modest supper

in the mid of afternoon

later we will wet the garden

sit upon a front porch swing

take a walk down olden paths

where younger we would sneak away

sit quietly at rivers edge

upon the bed washed rocks

walk home slow in weathered air

we chime the winds of clocks

[Recovered Writing] Sunset

This writing is one I did in highschool. I came across it again when cleaning out my old files on the computer. It’s nice to see how I used to write. I haven’t read this piece completely yet, but still, I will share it with you.

——————

Though I may be completely mistaken in all of this, I feel I have a story to tell. That story is mine. Yes, reader, my own story. For I feel if I do not lay out its details to you, then who shall?

At the current moment I have but one sunset left before I turn the age at which the world perceives me to be an adult. It seems as if all my life I have been waiting for this. For as long as I can remember I have kept a count of the years. Saying that one day I would be an adult and all that I wished to do would be done and nothing should stand in my way. For years I counted this down, and then the time came when the months rolled down the ticking clock. As of late it became weeks and days and the days seemed no more than minutes in an hour passing away without notice and without action.

The shutting of this chapter in my life now overwhelms as much as it used to excite. The time ticks away as the countdown of an explosive and I feel as if time is running short. What have I done with my life? Has all this time been wasted? Was there even any use?

A good deal of time has been spent throughout the years telling myself what I WILL do. Despite what is said, merely thinking of doing something does not feel as if it counts towards goals accomplished. Here I sit, one day from eighteen and I look back and wonder what really was the purpose of the previous years. I had many ideas, though few were acted upon. I saved successfully for many a lusted item, yet very few actually spent it on. Many times I hid away supplies I’d found and kept designs I’d made for the purpose of creating something but still the supplies sit in unarranged fashion, and the designs with no parallel in reality.

It occurs to me that this is it. The time has come. In less than one day it will be too late. If I want to make something of this chapter then I have but one final page with which left to write it. I have the choice to mark it boldly and simply as the end and the conclusion, or I can write the words of a thousand tales in every white of the page until there is no other choice for it to be satisfied as the end.

In all truth though, I hold no hopes. Some excuse, some snag in the riff will most likely make itself available for me to hold onto. I make no lies to you reader. Much of what I can not, nay will not do, I account to others. If only I were free I say, I should do more than that of any man has before simply for the sake of my passion. They are others, smarter, faster, more skilled, but I have the passion. The truth is though, that I grasp at what I can to keep this passion quelled. People of much lesser fortune have overcome much greater than I have ever faced, but I again tell myself that their extremes is what allows them to release their passion and not I.

Myself I tell that others hold me down, that others are the ones that hold me back. If I were to be free to roam and access supplies and work without the worry of sidecast looks that I would be great. If it were not for my father’s constant condemnation and question of my every move that I could accomplish all that I wished. If not responsible for the care taking of my siblings, then I would be free to accomplish more. I would make a difference. I will most likely not though.

Nothing truly stands in my way. It can better be described as there are many roads with which to walk down. Some are smooth and well paved. Some have giant walls perpendicular to them. And mine has small chinks in the surface. Those with the smooth road I say have the advantage of living without worries. They can take their next step without caution and succeed easily. Those with the wall, well, they have so great an obstacle that failure is expected and achievement ensures greatness and those around them will surely lift them up because their obstacle is so great. I however have the hardest time though. No one needs to lift me up. My step can not be totally without caution, it must always be weary, and the chinks cause me to fall. This is not true though. I see the chinks perfectly well and I stick my toes into them intending to fall.

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