It's currently all torn apart; loaded with work trucks, men in hard hats, tractors that blare out "beep beep beep" as they back up again and again. Orange cones unclearly/clearly mark which lanes are safe to travel, yet I keep screwing up as I attempt to come and go. Went so far as to run over one of those cones and dragged it right into my driveway, lodged beneath my jeep.
Make no mistake, the road is under construction, though it looked good to me, I guess it had problems.
If I seem alright, it's just a facade.
My macadam may be intact, but beneath the surface, there are pitfalls and leaking pipes, hazardous stones and old tree roots applying pressure from within.
It's dangerous to travel too close to the home of me.
I don't want to feel this way.
I want to be as smooth as freshly spread cement.
I want to feel as together as I appear.
I want to be finished. My trusty road led me here. I'm where I meant to go and so I'm done...
And I thought I was because I signed a paper or two or three thousand and they indicated to me that the end had arrived.
Ready to move forward, no really I am, but it's not so simple as want, is it?
As E.E. Cummings so eloquently puts it, "love is more thicker then forget".
Ah silly me, haven't I learned yet that an end only signifies the beginning of something else?
And, haven't I learned that beginning something else sometimes means the tearing down of what exists?
So rip it up, pull at it, demo me and let me rebuild, shore up, reassemble what was and turn it into something new, something more, something which can endure all the new somethings, wonderful or not, that are about to cross my path.
Consider me under construction.
and I'd like to think that the ---- Grand Re-Opening will be Coming Soon...
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