Beautiful

I want something but I don't know what it is.  I have eaten. I drank water. I slept.  But I am still ravenous.  There is something inside of me that wants, and wants, and wants.  Sometimes I am able to keep myself distracted enough that I don't hear its clamor and sometimes even when I do, I'm just too numb to care.  But it's still there, growling, "Is this all there is?"  "You're running out of time." "You are not enough."  "You are LACKING."  And I think about how old I am and what is happening in the world around me and I wonder what else I'm supposed to be feeling right now.  There is so much beauty and love and suffering and despair in this plane. I want to absorb and absolve all of it, but it surrounds me like a vast sea that I'll never be able to drink.  Someone died. Someone was born. Others just exist in the liminal horror of the 9-5. The cycle restarts at irregular intervals, and I wat...

It isn’t always like this. Most days, I feel the light, the expanse of the future, the forward gusts of life. I peer through my spyglass, set my course, and let the wind push me away from the smooth edges of my grief. But in my sleep, when I’m floating unguarded, sails berthed, the undercurrent tugs my anchor loose, and I find myself pouring over the edge of now back into the deep, still pool of loss. The water closes over my head, welcoming me like a lover who knows I will always return. And instead of gasping for air, struggling to escape, I remember I have my own gills, and I let myself sink deeper and deeper until my feet brush the bottom and I come to a rest. I gaze down, past my feet, and see the bottom of this pool is glass. I sink lower, until I rest on my hands and knees, and I let my eyes unfocus as I try to sense you through the translucent barrier. The water swirls through my hair and stings the inside of my nose, the pressure squeezing my heart like a vice. But I wait, as ...