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Plans

And it came to me then
That every plan
Is a tiny prayer to Father Time

And yet, one day... one day all this will be powder, and you will be king.

I wish I could write something inspiring, but I'm dredged of hope.
I wish I didn't wallow so much, and think about my failures so much, but I look in the mirror and see only flaws.
I wish I ... it's useless wishing, anyway.
You need to hope. That is vital. I guess that's why we're still here, though. We haven't lost hope yet.

But it's kind of a dull, blunted hope. A wearied subconscious thought that someday it will be better. Not a sparkling, joyful, alive feeling. No, not a feeling - a knowing. The kind of hope where you expect the best, because really, how is anything else possible?

Felix Felicis. The elixir of life. The vitality of youth.

I'm getting old...