I take life too seriously...

I take life too seriously. I’ve always known it. And then I dwell on the fact that I take life too seriously and it just becomes even more serious. I like looking at life whole; I like seeing it from a higher vantage point, taking it all in, in one big gulp. But I wish – I wish – that I could have just one moment, as a moment, just for me – something to experience, to relish as it happens and only exist in it then, not also in the future or the past or some other place, or even in my own mind. I want to LIVE now. I want to see life steadily and then be able to look back and think how much I enjoyed losing myself, finding myself, in those moments I lived. I want to be here when I kiss someone. When I laugh and hug and converse into early morning hours. I want to be here. In this moment. In this world, in this reality, in this physical being we have been placed in. But then I know that I would be terrified. I can’t let go of the whole. It is as much a part of me as I am of it and it won’t let me go, even if I could conceive to try to let go of it. There I go over-thinking things too much again. So serious. So dramatic. So deep and thoughtful and insightful and so so serious.

I want to have time. I want to have time to make a masterpiece, to really MAKE something. Something that will change people. Maybe not all people, but someone – I want to make something that can change an individual and will stick with them. I want to string words together that will capture another person – not use words but find words, the right ones or even just the ones that want to be found, and share them with whoever they are meant for. I want to have time to find myself in this jumble and to realize what is important. I need to find the time. It feels like there is so much to cram in I don’t even know where to start. Sometimes I feel lost, like I don’t know where I was coming from or where I was going and the next step is merely something I find in front of me not something I was looking for, and I take it only because I can’t think what the other choices are, if there are any. Maybe that’s not a bad thing, maybe that’s on the way to finding a moment simply for the sake of a moment. I just wish sometimes that I already was where I’m going so I could know for sure that I’ll get there some day.

I am unstuck from the fabric for an instant - or longer, it must be so much longer - splintering in different directions as the universe spins a web for me to land in - but my sharp pieces rip the delicate fabric to trails of dust as I am lost further into the deep, floundering for something solid to grab me back and stitch me in.