© Joe Tyson | Dreamstime.com

“Change can be a good thing if you have a plan” says Jack to himself. He is thinking out loud as he always does on Saturday afternoons. He looks outside his window at all the people walking by. He sees the pace, but no purpose. “What is the meaning of all this? Where is everybody going?”

In the heat of the day, he gets up to leave the room and realizes he is forgetting something. It is purpose – once so evident in his eyes but now replaced by longing. A deep longing for a life he only sees in his dreams, far from the real world.

“One fine day” he reassures himself “it’ll all work out.” He steps out under the sun and blames it on the weather. It’s always something. Something that he has but doesn’t need or needs but doesn’t have. ¬He feels quiet remorse for the life he never had – for the choices that were made for him. Not realizing that these choices made him the man he is.

He struggles from within underneath a putrid frustration, one that he is familiar with. There is too much at stake. He can’t afford to lose all this. Everything he has worked so hard to accomplish. Deep down he know these are just hollow shells of glory from an empty past alluding towards a pointless future.

His reason for waking up day after day in this futile existence is hope – that which no man can rob him of. Hope is his muse and his song. It carries him to places he’s never been.

“Change can be a good thing if you have a plan” says Jack to himself. He is thinking out loud as he always does on Saturday afternoons. He looks outside his window at all the people walking by. He sees the pace, but no purpose. “What is the meaning of all this? Where is everybody going?”
In the heat of the day, he gets up to leave the room and realizes he is forgetting something. It is purpose – once so evident in his eyes but now replaced by longing. A deep longing for a life he only sees in his dreams, far from the real world.
“One fine day” he reassures himself “it’ll all work out.” He steps out under the sun and blames it on the weather. It’s always something. Something that he has but doesn’t need or needs but doesn’t have. ¬He feels quiet remorse for the life he never had – for the choices that were made for him. Not realizing that these choices made him the man he is.
He struggles from within underneath a putrid frustration, one that he is familiar with. There is too much at stake. He can’t afford to lose all this. Everything he has worked so hard to accomplish. Deep down he know these are just hollow shells of glory from an empty past alluding towards a pointless future.
His reason for waking up day after day in this futile existence is hope – that which no man can rob him of. Hope is his muse and his song. It carries him to places he’s never been.