Is it spring yet and is there life growing somewhere? Is all that buried potential brave enough to reach. up. out. winter brings lazy and a certain ennui. hibernation, and i suppose that is part of a cycle.
but my eyes are strained from big picture attempts. focus is lacking. perspective is limited to this little moment
where restless sleep and spiking emotions make me tired of the reaching. tired of exploration. i pull my empty hand back to myself. what i touch doesn't follow me back. what i reach for doesn't seem to see a home in me. achy for something known and constant to curl up around.
nothing is, though. nothing is.
stuck wants stick
and vice versa.
1 comment:
'What I reach for doesn't seem to see a home in me.'-do you know (operationally/specifically)what you are reaching for and in that context, is home really a goal?- I really identify with your statement:)
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