The begining of something

Some days I know what I want, some days I don’t. I keep imagining the time when I will turn around, look in the mirror and see the truth in me. I will then breathe a sigh of relief that finally I have found my way, and am quite comfortable with what I hold and what breaths life into me. Scraping through the mire tends to make me loose sight sometimes. I forget that I am in fact on my way somewhere. Where, I do not know. Light flows in through the window and I am faced with morning. Always morning, constantly asking my name, wondering what will I do today? It is then that I plant my feet somewhat firmly on the ground and forge ahead. Although at times I find myself lost in a moment of words and dreams; I wish I could freeze indefinitely. Still, I know my bravery to face reality and emerge from my page, will surely provoke more imagination and color for my plight. Am I brave though? I think sometimes no, because I choose what might be easier, that being the background of a pen or keys instead of a stage. I don’t mind my words being read or spoken in an unheard voice, a voice I know nothing of. But to perform them over and over again causes me to doubt what I mean when I say them. But I get off track. See, it takes me only a minute to be lost in these quirks of mine. Still to meander, wonder makes for good conversation with this page whoever it is. I like it, and I think it’s worth wasting my time.