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Scout on the Journey/ End Scene

 I never noticed how the paint behind the toilet had bubbled up into pimples. I had lived in the same house for almost six years, and it still went over my head. The only thing I can remember is the number of steps at each stairwell and the color of the walls. On my drive home from the grocery store, I had never looked to my left and seen the house under construction or the painstakingly modern mansion. Perhaps I cared more about my time and reaching a certain point than the journey to get there.

It often feels like life is much more serious than it is. We take everything that occurs into our hearts and believe we have this ultimate power to decide our future. All it takes is a certain glare of light to realize that our livelihood is a play in which we have no control over the setting. The melancholy you believe in keeping at bay is switched in before your eyes, and no matter where you have run, it will slip in when the curtains are down. The failure you think you can resist by not trying will drag you back by the end of scene one. The act you establish will eventually end and will replace the person you truly are. It’s easy to define yourself and the things you do by the people and recognition you receive, but unfortunately, value is harder to identify.

 The worst thing about characters is their inconsistency, and the worst thing about living in a play is that the sky is always the same, no matter where you go. For years. You’ll make it out and back into the same hole, never understanding why you’ve returned until you realize that the set won’t change anything except the background and the foreground lies in you. 

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