Falling to pieces in different directions, like a tissue that has been repeatedly used and crumpled back into one's pocket or purse. Twisted, flaking, frail. I'm not running and I'm not wandering. I'm not hoping and I'm not quantifying. I'm waiting and that's not something I do with ease or enjoyment.
Birthdays this month. Smiles & laughter, the stuff that strung altogether makes life this process worth doing. The past year and a half I've been standing in this doorway. I'm one foot in two streams of thought. I feel like I'm being more of an observer than I've ever been before, as if watching more closely will help me to decide something. I'm not sure why, but I don't just want to make the arbitrary choice or the apparently confident one.
"...it wasn't because I didn't know enough, I just knew too much."
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The daily jazz of my mind, as pure & honest as possible; but know that words are themselves filters of the original thought/idea.
