Time is slowly taking steps, and I'm counting as it goes. The bleeding of days, one into the other and the stains of uncertainty I wear, like badges, on my shirt pocket. The hardest part of sprouting wings is in the seperation. Every man must take a chance, learn to grow, and fly on winds alone. Feeling scared and unaware is nothing new to me, but there's a truth and wisdom that seems to come with facing one's hopes and fears. I wonder what will come of the years, I wonder where I'll be. As an older man, will I succumb and be reduced to tears?
