Blow your trumpets, Gabriel

It's been a long time coming and I know the end is near 'cause I can feel the warmth of the Sun on my back and at night I cry among the swords. I know the end is near 'cause every time I see myself floating towards the past I realise I'm only doing it because the present feels boring, even when it isn't. I realise I'm running, so I tie my shoes and I try my best to stay on track, and I know I'm bound to fall every now and then, but I also know my feet are touching the ground, the impact reminding me I'm still running, I'm still going, and it may hurt after a while but at least I'm moving forward, and from afar I can see that the past can't catch up to me because it's not running after me—it's inside my head and I had the power to shut it up all along. I used to think my mistakes were ghosts who would haunt me and keep me awake at night, but now it seems the only reason I'm not sleeping is because I actually have nothing to worry about at 3 AM. And as long as I remind myself that boring isn't bad, I can get through anything. There are no ghosts. There are only echoes. And they're fading.