But truly, there must be something remarkable in being so insignificant?

6.

It's been a  while. Would you be proud?

Private Waste Land.

No, don't chase. You will find a labyrinth, and within it only that which will leave you breathless and broken. So don't chase, don't follow. It is gone, away and has drifted past its prime into peace. Time weaves its long, sinewy self around these places to clean for new stories, dust and dust and dust for a new present. So don't chase.
Those letters are long burnt out, the ashes lost beyond any meaning and we are standing here anew, but only just strangers. Look into these eyes, there is so much. So much, except for the mirrors we used to find and cherish. We are strangers, so don't chase.
It is bitter to recall. So I will not. Bitter to think of the tainted. So I will not, because this is not the taste I desire. This is not what love has taught me. What love, however? Which one? I cannot remember, cannot summon up those memoirs. Perhaps because they were purely imagined?
So don't chase.
There is nothing to find.

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

Yeah I believe in labeling theory. More importantly, though, that I am a product of it.

Forgiveness. Noble, difficult, impossible.
Painfully slow.
Sit by windows and watch worlds go by, wait for yours to move. Maybe to wake up one day, and think nothing at all.

Hope is all we have, all we can aspire to.

Let's all be tortured poets letting our words bleed into stories of where this world, this life, these times will take us. Get caught in traps that never were and be a series of not-quites only to feel sorry for wasted talent and promises of youth that we couldn't live up to, and then spend the rest of our days in unexplained silences only we understand. We have anthems ready, innumerable tales of the sorrows we constructed, crafting them carefully until we could envelope ourselves in covers of disillusionment and call it wasted potential. We are the new nonconformists, the anti to your now ancient modern social constructs, the dregs of your baby-booming, money churning, soul crushing pursuits, the self-discoverers, the subjects without your objectivity clouding our judgments. So watch us, watch us as we tap into our inner selves, run after the ultimate spiritual experience, and leave you behind as we chase our quest to be us. Just watch us as we crumble and collide and self-combust.

When spontaneous becomes another word in your vocabulary, it's just a sad realization that growing up wasn't as glamorous as you painted it to be.