So, here we are again. I am not far from the last place you found me. But since what I see hasn’t changed much, let’s not focus on repetitions.
If I just put words on a paper maybe something will come up that is worth mentioning, worth sharing. But the problem is what I have in me isn’t necessarily something grand or newsworthy just an unending line of flittering thoughts that go on and off like fireflies. The bright light at the end of flapping wings has the appearance of a steady something, but then the light abruptly goes out and we start again.
I think the problem is that I think too much.
I think the problem is that I am very far from where I think I should be, but a part of me feels that at the same time I am right on top of it; but am so used to not having what I want I can’t even recognize that the firefly has landed and is sitting on my knuckles watching me type.
Maybe I’m not patient enough, maybe I haven’t let go of the linear path even though I keep saying that I don’t want it, maybe the certainty of it is what I want, so as I sit on my own path I am left bewildered.
The answers probably are hiding in the large ink doddles of mine and the people before me.
I keep spewing words I want to believe in, but kind of, sometimes don’t. Perhaps like everyone else I will believe myself when I see it for myself.
I am waiting for the light bulb to burst there is so much clarity. It has every once in a while, usually on a weekend when my brain goes on pause. But then from the roots of the light bulb grows another that is transparent and dark and I am left trying to find enough fireflies to fill it.
I’m probably not seeing that they are lining the sides of my face and the curve of my hip.