I open you up today my journal yet my mind is but a blank. Prisons are oft of our own making and I have languished in one for too long. Is it so?
The seasons change and the years go on, ever does the question linger.
What do I want?
Deep down, you know what you want but you are loathe to admit it. No, you are afraid.
A familiar urge I feel, an urge I cannot shake no matter the cause. I wish to mount up my horse and fly.
A coward, ultimately is what I am. The passage of time does not diminish the fact. Yet I do not fly. I remain rooted to the spot in fear yet do not speak my mind in it's entirety either. What life for me would there be on the road?
I have had my fill of hedonism these past years, women and mead, the thrill of the chase. These things no longer appeal to the heart and I tire of them. I yearn to be more settled. But I also dream of far-away lands and fulfilling my boyhood wish to see them all. A man cannot have it all roads. Much as he may wish it.
The words, they sit at the very tip of my tongue in her presence, I feel something else. I feel something I have not felt in a long time. A fear of rejection, a fear of swallowing her up in the mire of my thoughts. Dragging her down with me, to the deepest and darkest depths. My thoughts, they are bogged down. I rise from my bed in the morning and fall to it's comfort in the evening and sleep as it so often has done eludes me.
Can a man that does not know his own mind truly find contentment?
Her words, they strike true. All of them. This is a painful and lonely life.
