Dejavu

I now remember why I left. I lived among grown people who had their lives made. Their projects were set, their goals clear, their dreams local, and their roots grown. The older ones. The four columns that held the fortress. The younger ones, triad for finish and decoration. I wanted to see what I could accomplish outside of the shadow of that luscious tree, grow my own roots and be my own tree. I wanted to not be at the mercy of, the nickel of, the clock of, somebody else. Unscrutinized to explore the smarts and the dumb. The freedom to make mistakes I no longer call so. The room to make my own path… And why, if there’s one already made I can just walk on? Because even though we’re the same, we’re also different. Because I like peace and quiet, because I like driving my own car, because I like clean air, because I cook and dine out at leisure, because I like smaller places, because I like less traffic, because I like efficiency, because I’m less patient, because even though their dreams are a wonder I can savor, they are their dreams. I now remember why I must leave again: because I must take the hard way. Because I could never settle. Because I still have my own trail to carve. Because the easy way out is never easy.