Habits

The older I get (and others I presume), the more difficult it becomes to fight against the tide of habit. For a borderline obsessive-compulsive, it’s extra hard.

My father’s rose, transplanted. July 2024.
Habits beget habits,
rituals, rituals.
Unfortunately,
predictable.
Grasp inspiring
spark, informer of
our ruts. Use its
spark, its flame,
burn away time's
accumulated dross.
Re-enter one's
original intent,
one's sincerity,
one's honesty.
Live there.

53/100

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