It's getting stale being stagnant

Lyrics | Collective Soul lyrics - Run lyrics

If I could pick a color for today: it'd be gray.

I'm in the maze again, trapped in my own insecurities.

Past dialogs keep haunting my thoughts and I fear I keep making the same mistakes again. It's like walking down a familiar lane, fully knowing that up ahead there is a big hole in the ground waiting for a fallen victim but you keep falling into it, time and again that the fall just feels like a necessary part of the journey. Each time these words echoes in your head, "Here we go again".

Haih...I hate it when I misunderstand; but lately it's all I'm capable of doing.

.

.

.

"People kill what they don't understand"

I know that's true. Most people don't have the patience to see things through once the sequence of events baffles them or it goes against what they hoped it would be.

Patience! All of us need Patience!

I think I have got some brand of patience but I am unsure if it's the same kind as every one else's. I have a great deal of hope, but I hope to trade that with a measure of willpower. Gotta move to the next level, so that the stage is set for new experiences, new setting, new everything: it's getting stale being stagnant.

hey, Magenta!

Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I've got a few missing. It's ok though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation.. so when I meet someone who's an 8-color type.. I'm like, "hey girl, magenta!" and she's like, "oh, you mean purple!" and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, "no - I want magenta!"

~John Mayer

You who never arrived

You who never arrived in my arms,  

Beloved, who were lost from the start, 

I don't even know what songs would please you.  

I have given up trying to recognize you 

in the surging wave of the next moment.  

All the immense images in me-- 

the far-off, deeply-felt landscape, 

cities, towers, and bridges, 

and unsuspected turns in the path, 

and those powerful lands that were once 

pulsing with the life of the gods- 

all rise within me to mean you, 

who forever elude me.  

You, Beloved, 

who are all the gardens I have ever gazed at,

longing. 

An open window in a country house--, 

and you almost stepped out, pensive, to meet me. 

Streets that I chanced upon--,

you had just walked down them and vanished. 

And sometimes, in a shop, 

the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence and, 

startled, gave back my too-sudden image.  

Who knows? 

perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, 

separate, 

in the evening..

~Rilke