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You'll be uncomfortable 40 percent of the time |
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When you open the gates of adulthood |
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A fair warning, dare I question its accuracy? |
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But still, there was much I wasn't told |
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And much that wasn't explained |
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I decided to venture out seeking answers |
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I went to a professional |
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"Can you pinpoint the origin of my anxiety?" |
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The doctor pulled out a map |
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I studied it, and there I saw: |
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Envy, bitterness, love, nostalgia, confusion, guilt, and desire |
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All illuminated like neon on the perimeters of a bustling thoroughfare |
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Soliciting my neurons for their patronage |
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Buzzing and pregnant with emotional potential |
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Ships docking harbors like thoughts approaching the threshold of perception |
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Towns of rapid traffic synapse intersections |
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Forests of dense cranial arbors |
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I continued studying the map |
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"It's here" |
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The doctor pointed to an empty patch |
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There was one road leading out to an empty patch |
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It didn't dead end but just sort of disappeared in isolation |
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"Right here?" |
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I surveyed the space with my finger |
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The doctor nodded gravely |
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"I'll leave you with the map for a moment," he said |
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Then gathered his instruments and neatly exited the room |
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I traced the path of the disappearing road until it was no longer a road |
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Tapping with my finger on what I decided was the threshold of the road's existence |
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I stated, "It is here where I will retire" |
