Four Walls

The result of at-work boredom...

Cold, lonely solace has visited me time and again. I look around at the four walls that are my world for so many hours, endlessly careening through space and time, and wonder if there’s more to do with one’s life at this very moment. What of the rest of the world and their sorrow? What of the rest of those like me? Do they meander upon the same, dainty daydreams? Do they understand that the possibilities are limitless? I sit here, and write these words for anyone who cares to listen. The naïve thoughts of a naïve mind, somehow find their way into fruition, ajar from the complacent cargo hold of consciousness. These thoughts, though scarce, seem to revisit me as I go about my day, meticulously scanning the horizon for a sign of conclusion, a beacon of comforting end. Even as I write, my mind continues to forlornly ponder what is and what may be.

                I feel the cold, nipping at my flesh, making my hands numb and constricted. The cold is my only friend here in the wasteland of my imagination, where every conscious thought seemed to have once relished the notion that tomorrow would bring about some kind of fantastic discrepancy, but it has not�"nor the day before the day that was yesterday.

                Take comfort in the fact that every thought that enters your mind is merely a thought, and as sentient beings we in fact have the power to dwell upon them, or dismiss them just as quickly as they came. We have the power to be what we want, and the will to shun what we don’t.