Before I Dream, Part II: Settling Soul

A gentle rain begins to fall. A light June shower. The breeze carries a fresh summer scent through the window sill. Bluish splotches of night sky creep through the trees’ blackened canopy.

At the window, a young man named Quentin sits idly.

To defy the present, to deny the moment. The past that has plagued my thoughts for endless nights. And on this night of restless wonder, I cannot lay simply in the night hours to await the future that has yet to unfold. While unable to change those moments in time, they are pondered all the same.

Eight nights ago. A night of restless wonder.
A night to mull what once was; A night to remember what no longer is.

O soul, will you ever settle into dusk? Be resigned and content that another day has passed. Inside, I am quiet, as if defeated. Less fatigue and more a matter of restless discontent, I’ve little choice but to forcefully reign the mind’s ambitions as the evening draws darker, should I wish to ever sleep.

His mind wanders aimlessly, with neither direction nor intent. A stream of endless thoughts. At times they flow without end. At others, a slow but persisting drip; as if only a painful reminder that they linger still.

In light hours my soul lashes out, not with anger or malice but a frustration – some drive, within, that remains unfulfilled. And as if I were soon faced by my mortality, which by all accounts I am not, a day in which life’s calling goes unfulfilled would seem a failure, a reflection on the life I’ve lived to date.

He makes a fist.

At dusk that drive subsides, ‘till dawn, when again and with impatience it drives on. And toward what end my soul alone must know, for I myself do not.

A night of restless wonder, When a weary soul grows weak,
When tenacity and spirit fledge,When the bravery falls meek.

I lay to press the issue. The sun has long since laid to rest, so too do I resign to my pillow, though with slight unease.

Of all the passing hours, As day turns into eve,
Only so long can he fight along, ’til a soldier’s soul begs for relief.

A low rumble of thunder, now. The sky’s lament echoes mine within. Minutes drag on for hours. The ceiling becomes a familiar site.

A night of restless wonder. Unanswerable questions, yet asked, and asked, and asked again.

Finally, the night draws quiet. Eyelids sit gently now. Heaviness in my head begins to slowly unravel. I finally agree to let the day go.

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