Stifled
Disclaimer: Amazingly, this is original work and not fanfiction for once. No stealing my stuff.
A/N: This is what I came up with while trying to unclog my brain enough to work on the Sess/Rin fic. Just some introspective bs...
Stifled.
I feel stifled. A fog lingers in my mind, clouding inspiration and blocking imagination. I fell as though I am naught but a small, meaningless cog in a great and vast machine.
Where are the dreams? The glory? The accolades? Is there nothing more than what is before me now? More than days spent amidst a sea of fabric and fiberboard? Something beyond the late night clinking of glass and ceramics in the back of a 24-hour diner? More than the ramblings of the disturbed mind in the corner; a woman trapped by the biology of her mind?
I sit back and just listen. Never looking-just listening.
I hope.
I hope I am not fated to become that woman in the corner booth, talking to my own invisible ally of knives in the back and other distorted, delusional things. But who knows? Perhaps I am already there. How often have I trapped myself with nothing more than the workings of my overactive, neuroses-addled mind? What opportunities have I missed because I lived in fear of the unknown, the uncomfortable or the unconventional? How often do I merely placate the voices in my head, the voices of those around me? How often do I fail to do what I truly wish to do, letting the rest of the world dictate my place within its confines?
I sit back and listen to that voice in the corner; the one who now laughs oddly as she clinks her silverware against her plate.
We are all different, and yet in so many ways, we are all the same.
A/N: This is what I came up with while trying to unclog my brain enough to work on the Sess/Rin fic. Just some introspective bs...
Stifled.
I feel stifled. A fog lingers in my mind, clouding inspiration and blocking imagination. I fell as though I am naught but a small, meaningless cog in a great and vast machine.
Where are the dreams? The glory? The accolades? Is there nothing more than what is before me now? More than days spent amidst a sea of fabric and fiberboard? Something beyond the late night clinking of glass and ceramics in the back of a 24-hour diner? More than the ramblings of the disturbed mind in the corner; a woman trapped by the biology of her mind?
I sit back and just listen. Never looking-just listening.
I hope.
I hope I am not fated to become that woman in the corner booth, talking to my own invisible ally of knives in the back and other distorted, delusional things. But who knows? Perhaps I am already there. How often have I trapped myself with nothing more than the workings of my overactive, neuroses-addled mind? What opportunities have I missed because I lived in fear of the unknown, the uncomfortable or the unconventional? How often do I merely placate the voices in my head, the voices of those around me? How often do I fail to do what I truly wish to do, letting the rest of the world dictate my place within its confines?
I sit back and listen to that voice in the corner; the one who now laughs oddly as she clinks her silverware against her plate.
We are all different, and yet in so many ways, we are all the same.