Isn’t it a curious thing
How our habits form worldviews
And change the very way
We move through all the days?
When I was young,
My head nary looked ahead,
Eyes glued to the floor,
Downtrodden and defeated.
Like a clockwork routine,
My gaze falls upon the ground
On which I steadily stand
And searches for some sort of danger.
The ground… a familiar sight,
Because even in first-person shooters,
I found it a challenge to snipe
The simplest of headshots in low ranks.
But in a truly ironic twist of fate,
As I faced forward to fight for a place,
I stumbled upon a terrible misfortune
And rolled my ankle in a hidden ditch.
By no means do I have weak ankles—
I could still stubbornly run and fight,
But nothing we did would close the gap
And playing the game only meant a loss.
I would like to keep facing forward,
But I am afraid of getting hurt once more;
Would it be possible for me,
To admire all the birds in the sky?
I will try. I will try.
水 