My room is generally a mess and I’ve gotten better but still procrastinate some.
“Haste makes waste” is a thing and I’ve wasted more everything than I currently possess.
My laziness is wasteful too.
In a haste to flush the day and meld with Netflix. And calories.
But I am also far from passionless.
Like, hysterically so.
I care and I notice and I worry.
I fret about all I’ve wasted in a haste to fill identities rendered false by clarity.
All of it.
The unchangeable past has to be to allow for possibility.
Wind on face.
Shells as cells left in wakes of awakening.
Haste swapped for focused urgency.
The difference between the two,
haste and urgency,