forever riding the crest of

Thesis, my love, my ever-challenging soul wrecker. You, my sweetest, my most despised, will be the death of me. a tenuous line that meanders off in two directions. One dictates life be led one way, while the other wanders over a hazily outlined hillside, stretching beyond the scope of simple conjecture and into a land beyond charted seas. There is a longing – to maximize an academic potential. To continue on the noble route of the intellectual. There is a pulling – to scamper toward the practical and invest in life’s simple pleasures, hopes, and reaching aspirations that many are not fortunate enough to know or see. And Thesis, you still refuse to write yourself, as though to mock and cajole me into a heartened slumber that the second option does not somehow entangle the first. Fret on and push still, for in this moment, I know better.