I can't sleep.
The acoustic music and sad-sack hymns keep me afloat.
The leaves of the shady tree rustle above me.
I'm finding that I kind of want to die, but in a very... well, relaxing sort of way. I think it's more like coming home to the Lord again, or falling asleep. The slow, milky kind that you feel wash over you. Your body just slows. Eyes blur ever so slightly. Sounds lose their outlines. A heavy warmness, like being encased in the softest cotton. The sweet spot of being drunk. The point of bridge-building when you meet someone new. You shake their hand and feel seen.
I want to be seated again on that pool tile, or ocean floor, or coral crusted lagoon like I did in that incident long ago. Looking up like I always do.
Why does it have to feel like such a vacation? I feel like a broken record as I hit all these points again. But it's true. Not much for swimming, but nobody is above visiting the childhood home when the road gets coarse.
The day that my story ends, I hope that it plays out that way. More and more these days I feel like I'm just building a wrap sheet so that when the day finally comes I'm that much more ready for the rest as it comes. Like eating ice cream during the peak of August. The contrast makes it so much sweeter. Emboldens the flavor and before you know it you're salivating just as quickly as the delicacy is melting.
Somehow I don't want anything. Not like I used to. Well. Maybe nothing that I can actually go get. I think I want to feel real. Like I'm okay. Happy, even. Like I'm here and it matters. I've been wrestling with that a lot these days. Finding that balance between knowing that I'm nothing, but also finding the reason to continue to press out into the unknown and give as I've always done. To find the value in it's emptiness. There's got to be a reason that I'm living right now and somebody else isn't. Or maybe that I'm here in particular.
Where's the significance in the grey? How can I build a house out of the fog? A mouse does nothing but eat and drink yet it is cursed with feeling as it traverses the maze. Isn't that an interesting thing? The animals and all of creation are to feel and hurt and think, together in some ways, but never have the option of building anything truly important.
Or maybe it's a blessing. Like knowing that it's all for nothing allows us to be free of critique or pressure to succeed. Do what you want because it doesn't matter anyway.
Meh, who's to say.
The acoustic music and sad-sack hymns keep me afloat.
The leaves of the shady tree rustle above me.
I'm finding that I kind of want to die, but in a very... well, relaxing sort of way. I think it's more like coming home to the Lord again, or falling asleep. The slow, milky kind that you feel wash over you. Your body just slows. Eyes blur ever so slightly. Sounds lose their outlines. A heavy warmness, like being encased in the softest cotton. The sweet spot of being drunk. The point of bridge-building when you meet someone new. You shake their hand and feel seen.
I want to be seated again on that pool tile, or ocean floor, or coral crusted lagoon like I did in that incident long ago. Looking up like I always do.
Why does it have to feel like such a vacation? I feel like a broken record as I hit all these points again. But it's true. Not much for swimming, but nobody is above visiting the childhood home when the road gets coarse.
The day that my story ends, I hope that it plays out that way. More and more these days I feel like I'm just building a wrap sheet so that when the day finally comes I'm that much more ready for the rest as it comes. Like eating ice cream during the peak of August. The contrast makes it so much sweeter. Emboldens the flavor and before you know it you're salivating just as quickly as the delicacy is melting.
Somehow I don't want anything. Not like I used to. Well. Maybe nothing that I can actually go get. I think I want to feel real. Like I'm okay. Happy, even. Like I'm here and it matters. I've been wrestling with that a lot these days. Finding that balance between knowing that I'm nothing, but also finding the reason to continue to press out into the unknown and give as I've always done. To find the value in it's emptiness. There's got to be a reason that I'm living right now and somebody else isn't. Or maybe that I'm here in particular.
Where's the significance in the grey? How can I build a house out of the fog? A mouse does nothing but eat and drink yet it is cursed with feeling as it traverses the maze. Isn't that an interesting thing? The animals and all of creation are to feel and hurt and think, together in some ways, but never have the option of building anything truly important.
Or maybe it's a blessing. Like knowing that it's all for nothing allows us to be free of critique or pressure to succeed. Do what you want because it doesn't matter anyway.
Meh, who's to say.
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