I’m on a secluded island in every sense of the word and I’m screaming at its shores for someone to shine their light my way, but everyone’s light is so dim or cracked or it’s too foggy on the horizon or we didn’t catch each other in time. Even if I could release the muscles in my neck, let the sound tear into space, would anyone hear it?
Bad news is oozing into my lifeway, creating cracks in the pavement, A split at the top of his skull, through which the bad news hissingly poured; a groove in his knees, which buckled.
I’m tired of feeling let down. I’m tired of being affected by people who don’t respect me, even when I’m thousands of miles away. I’m tired of feeling misunderstood and misinterpreted, or worse, completely ignored. I’m tired of trying to fulfill someone else’s desires at the expense of my own.
At least it feels good that a piece of this Pacific ocean has entered my arteries and is now pervading my flesh, such that it’s harder to distinguish who I was, who I am, and who I am becoming. I wonder if I could stay on this island forever, letting these waves and flowing hands wash me and salt me until I become part of the reef.
It’s always flattering (and somewhat surprising) to know that other people are interested in the space I use as a journal and place of processing. I really appreciate it.
To be honest, though, I’m leaving to study in the Pacific Islands tomorrow morning and won’t be intent on using this space for debriefing as I usually do. Alas, someday I’m sure to use it as an artistic outburst and outlet for my many feelings.
Love to you, anonymous, for making my day sweeter.