Miles away

My thoughts couldn't be further from the heavy cloud of chitchat surrounding me.

I habitually flick on the kettle and nestle safely into nostalgia’s beguiling vice.

I'll capitalise on the escape before being whipped by the cold snap of reality, left only with envy of times gone by, forever dreaming, present or not.

Euphoria cocoons each delicately preserved memory as I soar through the vaults, reinforcing a sober narcissism familiar to us all.

Every journey has its uphill stretch, but pessimism soon suffocates when smothered with such colour and music, seldom able to spoil such a polished vision.

The convincing delusions which sculpt who I am are ever present, and ever enticing.

Strings to my bow keep the ember glowing, and ensure mediocrity remains inadequate.

Those strings must justify the plot holes if this story is to have a happy ending. But if I turn my back on my delusions, I must abandon them for good.

The optimist within prevails while the bashful confidant peeks from behind the curtains, so consumed by the chase they'd both be lost should they reach the rainbow’s end.

I'll need to submerge intimately for even a shot at such utopia.

The clock accelerates the later it gets, forcing some compromise in my final draft.

Instinctively armed to offer a shoulder, yet reluctant to take such action suggested to others.

Why would a greyhound run without the rabbit? Why does it chase the rabbit at all?

I'm chasing the mystery of it, treading water until fate intervenes and lands on my lap, presenting justification for the hurricane trail I've left in my search for the holy grail.

I may be just in time to compensate for every wasted day.

I won't dwell too much. I'll utilise the tools I always had. Better late than never, I guess.

The sharp click of the kettle drags reality back to centre stage, and so the loop resets, ready for next time.

For my own sake, I hope aspiration alone is enough to see me through.