The promise

I did something. Next day I did it again expecting a different result. I did not learn. The habit consumed the appearance. I was not the appearance but my thoughts were not self aware. Soft awareness could only whisper its lullaby to a flower  which is upside down and patient until its too late. The unconceived greater unpleasantness of time ticking until the water in the river exhausts into the ocean is buried under momentary happiness which the mind perceives real over that which will be revealed with self awareness one day.

Sitting at the crossroads, finding happiness in being delusional for the time being, before I take the path less traveled.

That promise is really my own.