# 42 || Draw a monster. Why is it a monster?

Over time I feel like I am forgetting where I have come from and where I am going. Not even metaphorically, but sometimes I'll wander into the kitchen and not remember the hallway. Or I'll step on the train and wonder if I remembered to put my keys in my pocket before closing the front door. But maybe that is a metaphor for everything, for this fear of being too earnest, too childish, too reckless, too real. Where did the last hour go? How did I get here? How did October slip away into the dungeon of my subconscious? Recent and remembered events remind me that you never know who you have the potential to be, whether that be positive potential ou pas. Emotions are too fickle, they can transfigure you into something, somebody, you never thought you could ever be. Perhaps I'm doing this all wrong, that instead of settling for being the star in my own storybook, I crave cameos in the chronicles of others. For better or for worse, your grass is greener than mine and I remember every moment other than this one. But if past presents the future, I think I'll be stagnant until I figure it out but I don't even know where to begin.

My adolescent urgency to know everything and everybody and everywhere seems to have passed and been replaced with a frightening sort of apathy that is sometimes comforting, but mostly terrifying. Because I've always thought to care, to care about something so deeply you almost forget why, is one of the most beautiful feelings in the world. Passion gets you out of bed, passion kindles the hope that keeps you alive, passion reminds you what love and life are all about. I guess I can never reiterate often enough how when you've got something wonderful, you have to hold it tight because beauty is a bird that can so easily fly away. Inspiration, understanding, euphoria, composure and ambition are not infinite, they're a privilege that you should never surrender. But like I said a few moments ago, change is also a privilege and erraticism doesn't apply only to the good things, but the sad things too. Melancholia, uncertainty and disorder are not everlasting either. I hope promise.

Mmmmm, seulement parfois.