My life is a poor excuse as I’ve allowed so much to pass by me without so much as a sideways glance. And that which I have lived out, is filled with fraud.
When I do reach for that fictitious brass-ring and dare to step outside the boundaries I’ve long since established, I find I do everything, every action, every thought incorrectly. At least this is how I see things.
The rules I live by no longer work. While they look good on paper and feel good to speak aloud, they carry no weight in this life I live.
And I’ve no idea why they seem so abstract now.
There is a serious doubt I carry in my heart and in my mind that says I’ll never find the life I once had. I thought I was a man of adventure, of action, yet I’ve discovered I am nothing more than a character in one of my many failed short-stories.