How can it be this hour of the day, and I still feel this way?
No one else does. No one else ever does. Everyone is asleep by now.
-
Water bug, and some hours I am on the surface
Enjoying the skimming of the skin in the summer sun
And other hours I am drowning; diving down deep for sustenance
Sustenance I don’t need, apparently – because no one else needs it, apparently.
There’s a gate in my mind that just won’t open to the lesson between needs and wants
So forever a want is a need for me; and you can’t really teach me different can you?
What good could it do? What good would it do?
-
Youth is not a thread to the past,
But a thick rope that cannot be broken
Spirit is not a gossamer spider’s silk,
But a network of tree roots that cannot be removed from ground.
Emotions are not a humiliation,
But a moment of self-glory that not even the weight of the world can smother.
-
And sometimes I’m –kind of – on the surface,
Up there with you.
But mostly I’m down here – by myself.
And that’s not a condemnation against anyone.
It’s just an atavism that keeps me lonely and longing.
It’s just the difference between six billion solitary sighs and my own single gasp.
-
No matter how badly I want to find someone else down here,
if only for a moment
No matter how much I want to drag someone else down here,
if only for a conversation, if only to feel warm skin against my own
I cannot; I have tried; I have failed.
No facile tantrum and no solipsistic fantasy; just the treasure of being alive again
-
There is so much loss that comes with every breath,
I’m surprised it doesn’t tear this world open.
And there is so much love with every breath,
That I can’t understand how it doesn’t tear us all open.
And there is so much derision for not being dark and so much giving-up on those that are constant,
I wonder how we don’t all just tear apart
And sink forever to the bottom, under this surface.
-
Water bug, and something snaps; the surface tension breaks. I sink; for a final time?
Do I care to resurface yet again? Who would care, or not care, but me?
It’s blissful down here, no matter what they say, or what they think – it is solitude too though
No matter what the hour
-
Concern for the time of day is not an eternal, meaningful death…just the tiny death of giving up
-
So embrace
Embrace; it’s never too late
What other option is there,
But to embrace the choices you make at every moment, with every breath, with every atom spin?
