There are decisions to be made.
Play it safe.
Listen to your heart.
Listen to your head.
“It was just a vacation,” she says, the one who has played it safe for so many years that she’s insulated from what it would really be like to just jump from the curb and land in the puddle. Drench the shoes for the glorious fucking hell of it.
Bold is where the heart is; a telling – a yearning – for something more. Another new start in another place where you’ve got a few friends staked out.
Safe is where the head is at; analytical and cold. Penny-pinching realist. A tape repeating fiscal conservatism and preaching the safety of employment and a life that’s “not all that bad.”
The two fight for a soul that’s tired of the struggle. Tired of the status quo.
But a soul that still feels the scars of the past, all the moves that quite didn’t work out so well. The older you get, the longer it takes to heal.
There’s a feeling that time is growing short; the clock’s ticking and there’s got to be a decision.
For now, the boldness of eight days in the city energizes the thought process. It tingles.
It’s like a slight cut on the lips that you can’t help but tongue, just to taste the blood, feel the sting.
Needing the pleasure, but knowing the pain.