It's Winter, But We Pretend Otherwise

I usually turn to Google for these types of things, because who else could I talk to? Who else would not judge me and still be impartial? But this phrase is too clunky to search, and even though I have broken it up into two chunks it is still not exactly what I was looking for.

The empty pocky wrappers lie crinkled in my trashbag. I have the remains of a bus ticket, snappy sorbet nail polish, and a rubber duckie to remind me of what once was, what I could have had and the neverending dreams. In my dreams they are eternal, and the objects mere crags to be avoided. They are faded souvenirs of a past life, a past lie.

I am at a crossroads now, more than ever, and decisions have always frightened me. I wrote my college app essay on road trips, on crossroads, and on choosing my path, but when it comes down to it I am a coward. I have lost my power to dream like I used to, and this upcoming trip to somewhere warm and nostalgic might be just what I need to bring some of that magic back.

A smile and a bit of panic. The past few days, I have been wavering, wondering, reconstructing my thoughts until they become tangled messes of strings. There are consequences to this. Whether I want to keep on dreaming or if I want to fall back into routine. The idealistic or the practical. Which one is which, I am not sure anymore.

I was once told to make up my mind. I was once told to focus on my goals. They are easy words to say but I have been trying to act them out and it is harder than I ever imagined. And now, as a coward, I am looking for that sense of security, that knowledge that if I take this step I will not fall. And what then? What if I do receive it?

Is it what I really want?