This cliche reverberates within my mind upon one of the unrecognizable layers of latent thought. Like a forest, there are obvious separations but it all meshes together at the same time. At night running through the low hanging branches, struggling to keep on the marked path. Always lost, always discovering something new. The past revisited.
Two consecutive lines of white powder off the dashboard. Hurried conversation.
"Turn the lights off."
Interlocking fingers are unmoving, the cogs in a broken clock.
"Don't scare me away."
The music and memories of a pre-zen moment in a forgotten summer pour from dark speakers in a dark room, washing over me completely the same as they once had.
But it's not the same. It will never be the same. I will never be the same.
Our post-zen madness leaves me thinking of the young man I once was, making Love so innocently.
A Brother of mine says that, "Getting Lost Is All We Do These Days"
I believe he's right.
Getting lost, forgetting the path we've strayed from, concerned only about the next step.
Even a broken clock is right twice a day.
So why can't you manage it?
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