The weather comes and goes; there's a constant addition and removal of clothing, you cannot count on anything and that's reassuring. I zig-zag across the country to people who have known me longer than I've known myself: some of them understand my dizzy madness, for some it is too alien, and intimidating. It unnerves them to see me wrangle the mold. My bags are full of keys; I sit in an empty living room crying, in an apartment twice the size of my own, and know now beyond a doubt what I must do.
I walked past your house this morning and didn't feel a thing. I've been doing that a lot lately -- feeling nothing. It comes as a bit of a relief.
There's a fine line between being untethered and being free. But life is short, and dire, and impossibly beautiful.
I can't stay on the ground, if there's a chance that I could fly.
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