Funny how human growth can settle into cycles. Bursting forth or skidding to a halt to nestle on a new plateau. Learning, seeking, finding, learning what is found; it’s all a pattern that repeats itself as if our skin is just rolled out in strips like wallpaper. What we are is what we want to just be seen to be to harmonize the scheme.
I must learn to temper passion with much patience. A lesser steam from simmer than from boil. Keep the crayon well within the lines even if it can be purple; move sideways up and down within the checkered bored of squares. Paint the world by numbers as when a child, and washing brushes in between the dip of colors. Rules once broken never mend; rules are not for me to bend. Time is given to the wise to wisely spend. Do not amend, do not amend.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology