Let's Go To The Circus
It's not you, it's me.
It's not me, it's us.
The applications of bookmark excuses and stereotypical lines, packed into a mental rehearsal of what shouldn't be said. You don't want to risk it but you don't want to stand still, and it takes a leap to get anywhere from here. Not a safety rope in sight, captain, so let's take the dive.
4:52, and I should be asleep. Instead I'm filling up space with magnetic ink and fighting insomnia for control over the twilight hours. I'm losing. Go figure.
Monday I press the play button on real life again. Back to school. Back to the grind. Time to move forward this semster, not back. No excuses, no mopings, no crying this time around. The carousel is spinning, my friends, and just because I didn't get to sit on the pink-painted pony of my choice doesn't mean it's going to stop.
Strike up a chorus, conductor man. The carnival is back in town, and I have a score to settle with the ringmaster.
