The Bigger Pictures of Growing Up

Dear you,

I look at my life from a distance, from that bigger picture in that old, or even antique, frame. I realise I've been nothing but a runner, and not the good type of a runner. I look at the crosspaths I've ran to, and I come to the realisation that I never took the time to sit there, at that edge between the two or three or four paths. I never sat to sort out my life, slowly and wisely. 

I look at how I ran, barely looking at what I wad about to be, and at what I was about to indulge myself in or immerse my soul in. I look at my face and it is so thin and pale. My jaw is tensed and I feel myself clenching my teeth so bad I almost hurt myself. I hear the sound of my heart beating so fast inside, and my chest is rising, falling, rising, falling with the same hurried and hysterical pace as if it was an adrenaline rush that does not go away. And so it seems I have been running for far too long, too long I forgot how to inhale and exhale deeply. And I most certainly forgot how to heave sighs, whether sighs of relief or sighs of pain. I didn't have time, because I was just running, only running.

I felt my body about to collapse, but that did not stop me from taking one of those paths I knew nothing about. I wanted to take risks. I loved to take risks. I mean, what was the worst that could've happened anyway? But there was so much. 

I stand here, thinking of what I've become, and I tell myself that it is okay to make mistakes. But I am not sure how far we can go. I am not sure I went too far.

Tell me, did I go too far away from my dreams? Is it not too late? Or is it? 

Yours faithfully and sincerely,

N.