The continuation, the constant sense of waves and confusion. Choices. I hate choices, why can things never be blatantly straight forward? Why is life spitting in the face at one moment then caressing it the next?
I wish for simplicity, to have good conversations with my mother, tell her of my day, and listen to hers, make her sweet tea and pick her small flowers. I wish to have a better sense of her, how to know her, how to love her, how to make her happy.
This angst falls like pebbles in my belly, weighing me down, pressing against my spine, aching, arching, crumbling. I don't want this, I have the need to know that in time there's a reason, that there's a road of crossed paths where we will one day see eye-to-eye. I have the need to know assurance, the bearing of hope it too great for me to tread on my own.
Tread it with me.
Step into this never ending sense of wander with me, let it burst and bubble at your seams, flinging you into uncertainty, what could be more thrilling? The possibility of loving and then losing, of having but not knowing, and of knowing but never having, is there any other greater sense of abandonment than to know we're never alone, but we're always entirely alone in the same entity, but always knowing.
The continuation, the constant sense of waves and confusion. Choices. I hate choices, why can things never be blatantly straight forward? Why is life spitting in the face at one moment then caressing it the next?
I wish for simplicity, to have good conversations with my mother, tell her of my day, and listen to hers, make her sweet tea and pick her small flowers. I wish to have a better sense of her, how to know her, how to love her, how to make her happy.
This angst falls like pebbles in my belly, weighing me down, pressing against my spine, aching, arching, crumbling. I don't want this, I have the need to know that in time there's a reason, that there's a road of crossed paths where we will one day see eye-to-eye. I have the need to know assurance, the bearing of hope it too great for me to tread on my own.
Tread it with me.
Step into this never ending sense of wander with me, let it burst and bubble at your seams, flinging you into uncertainty, what could be more thrilling? The possibility of loving and then losing, of having but not knowing, and of knowing but never having, is there any other greater sense of abandonment than to know we're never alone, but we're always entirely alone in the same entity, but always knowing.
You’re there.