I’m really not up for this. To love. I don’t want it. I don’t want to love. I’ll take my pets. My child. My hobbies. Don’t think I don’t love you. I just don’t want to. I want to run away. I want to be gone from this painful place with no light. No kindness. No friends. I need to leave. Be in the woods. Be alone. Where the light is just light. The trees are just trees. The magic is just magic. Nothing more, nothing less. Why can’t you see that your patience and kindness, your heart and soft hands ruin me? I need to be a rock. Just there. One among many. Don’t ask. Just leave. It’s better that way for all of us. Please.
How can something so beautiful become so distorted and ugly?
Big ideas cancelled by
Taking up all my time
To want to
I WILL WHEN
These little distractions, these
Sandstorms, deposit layers of sediment
To obscure the path and the plan
To need to
I ACCOMPLISH NOTHING
Dunes soon form
Becoming barricades, a gigantic something
I cannot see beyond
AND CEASE TO BE
Hopeless, asking how? Why?
What’s the point?
Photo by Paul Scott from FreeImages
A few months ago, I downloaded an article about why people don’t follow through. I still haven’t read it.
I already know I can’t search out, cobble together, what I need. It’s not right here, so I have to find it.
Does it become more valuable because I have to dig it from the ground? Wrench it from the Earth’s clutches?
In the seeking, I learn what’s truly desired. Or is it now an obsession? Or just a waste of time? Or is it just lost to me? Am I run by convenience and the unnecessary?
Easily distracted by everything; overshadowed by the Shiny. Here I am, allowing coercion, manipulation, influence.
Because I’m desperate, lonely, and willing.
Each mistake is a promise. A strike. Keeping them at bay. No way to allow yourself anything because you’ve created a shaft, a chute, a well, in which you can fall.
No action underpinned with vows. No truth. Scaffolding and a beautiful facade. With so many pounding on the entrance; the hollow center shakes. Echoes. The emptiness reverberates and dust motes sing.
You are not home. You never will be. Could such a place exist? Would you go if it did? Or recognize it?
You’ve set it up so the fault will be yours when the time comes. When the metal bends and wood splinters beneath the weight of lies and good intentions; your need will not see the shifting of trusses or hear the peal of resistance. When the curtains catch fire, you’ll mistake it for a sunset. Watch as the walls are consumed. Stand on the edge of your clever construction; missing your opportunity to drop.
It’s safest for me to walk in the center of the road, far from either side as I can be. Keeping from what’s real.
Looming in, creating shadows.
Silence, all at once golden and terrifying, grates at my ears.
Its full weight pressing me to that white dashed line. Unbearable, like the heavy hands of god showing me how I’ve failed. Then the gift of lifting off, releasing. Allowing me to rise, my back to straighten, my head to turn, and my heart to beat.
I need to leave this line. Pick a side.