I fail a little more each day. My life a trail of half-dones and never-beens scattered every which way. The world says, “No.” I say, “Okay.”
But I’m really not. Not okay with failing, that is, and I don’t think I ever will be.
“There is a chasm between me and the world outside of me. A gap so wide my feelings can’t cross it. By the time my screams reach the other side, they have dwindled into groans.” —Isaac Marion
Meaning comes from the strangest of places, but I’ll take whatever I can get even (especially?) if it comes from a zombie novel. Warm Bodies is the only, and I mean THE ONLY, zombie book/movie I will ever read/watch. You see, I turn into chickenpoo in the face of scary things. The only twenty minutes I’ve ever played of the original Resident Evil still haunts me to this day. I cannot and will not have a ticking clock in my house.
But the older I become, the wider this chasm grows. Failure infects failure, and each time I’m not my best means I’m the one who says, “No.”