There is a difference between who I want to be and what I feel I am becoming. It is a difference that like a cancer, can be avoided if detected early enough--I do believe it is early enough. But aside, in third person is where I push myself and the actions that can iron the creases and make the surface smooth, without a single wrinkle.
There is friction between who I am and where I am heading. Two futures at war for my life; I am already aiding the champion and with very little regret do I betray the defeated. Walking forward as it were, into a shrinking suit--that when worn, continually contracts and suffocates the skin; the collar becomes a noose and every step, a constricting evolution.
There are dreams, and they are gulfs, flying waves of vultures and ever-descending passions, instincts, and fears. Behind the flesh of Identity, we find building complexes, apartment networks--we find inhabiting memories, all with their very own sets of purpose and motive. There is direction, there is deceit and in a very natural, self-preserving hatred for possibility, there is assurance. And there is my fear that who I am becoming--regardless of my preference, is a mechanism, everyday perfecting itself so that certainty may one day be its skeleton, a frame on which to decorate its organs into a full functioning body. My brain like a board room for executive memories that have long since collected into cells and become independently bacterial, I would not be able to overrule.