Procrastination

The words linger in the dense air. Sound suspended as mist on a mild winter morn. Hovering waiting to be heard.

Shall I listen when I see them, what purpose if I can pick and choose them for my own. Take them all in. I don’t need them to wander nor torment my mind… I know them there.

The roads remain traveled. Day to night. The path taken and retaken. Yet one remains alone. Alone with words. Solitary.

Abandoned for a time. Reclaimed it shall become. I promise.

If not for my tales and dreams I would continue blind. I know what needs to be said and I know what needs to be heard. I know what needs to be done. Am I ready?

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