The swirls of the smoke coloured sky, scintillating and swarming as it deepens to ebony, a black blush of thoughts blanketing my mind. This is the evening time of reliving the ravages of day.
I went out into the torrid of the thoughtless crowds, university students sighing and harassed by midterm exams. For a moment I held faith with them as I wrote, before remembering I was someone else.
Caught between two spheres, the adult who should be solidifying her career if not for a fatiguing sickness, and the ever determined student delving deeper into knowledge once she learned the more you know, the more you do not know.
A paradox indeed, that going to school for what seems like a seamless and unending time, has left me the truth: you know nothing even though you’ve been in school since you were six, you only can perceive that a person cannot know all there is to learn; no wisdom here but the air between your ears.
And I pass the swirl of bodies in modern university garb – ankle boots, and pea coats; skinny jeans and knee boots; sweat pants and running shoes. I do remember those days when I wore what they wear. Now I go out, I dress like an adult, classic, I think; but the staff on campus look at me as if I’m a young student, lights dim, it’s nearly been eight years.
But I found through my minds persuasion of lurid purple thoughts and intriguing segways, that there are many paths to knowledge and many ways to gain it; Pathways of pink and plenty into the working world, could be wonderfully convenient one day if I train myself for jobs with adult education.
But for now I’ve accepted to attain the unattainable and focus on one course and apply for a masters, when next spring comes about. I figure that an MFA in creative writing cannot make me know nothing if it’s all fictious because I formed the story myself. I know what I know, especially if I made it up.
Clouds of cotton fluff in the air, sunshine soothing on my face, no wrinkles to create I wear serum with SPF. Still Green grass in October with orange fire and red fire leaves. I walk home, hop on a train, the bus. Hurriedly, pull myself beneath the covers. One day down, sleep in the breath of cold air tonight, arise fresh and freezing to winters bitter blow.