Maybe you're wrong

You know how some people boast really good intuition about people?
Well, I don't.
In fact, if there were a game show called Good Idea Bad Idea I would always inadvertently choose the bad.
I would never win the showcase show down.

It's comical actually because I'm kind of like Charlie Brown with the football.
This time I'm really gonna kick it.
And there I fall, laying flat on my back wondering how I could have been so wrong yet again.

The past is an unpredictable force.
Sometimes unnoticed.
Sometimes ill affecting the present.

Stop living in the past.
But what if its memory lingers without my consent?

Walls go up, guards, protective falsehoods to keep strangers from repeating pasts indiscretions.
And I catch my reflection mirroring such foolishness, having open the gates only to slam them shut again.

I don't know this version of myself.
This girl cautious and accutely aware.
I once flew headstrong into everything, no thought for what wasn't but only for what I believed.
Everything else caused me to blink twice, unmoved.

Now I am unawares of what I want or what I even need.
Maybe I don't know what I want.
Maybe I concur inclusively.

But while each set of eyes is incapable of catching such similarites, I all too knowingly anticipate the distance growing.
The hesitation outweighing instinct.
And such timing never dancing in sync.

Then again, maybe I'm wrong, as so often is true.
Maybe time will instead stir surprises.
And I can once again sleep soundly knowing I'm home again.
And I will fall, tumbling forward, having finally kicked the damn football.
As I always knew I would.