I don’t know what it means to say I’m sorry. In the way that I should. I don’t know what it means to say I’ve been there and done that because I haven’t and I won’t. I walk and feel wind and sun and air and I think about the groceries I have to buy later that day instead of listening to the wind talk to me in my ears.
I stood on the edge of a cliff at the end of the world and I kicked a rock off and I watched it fall for as far as I could, and then I listened closely to hear if maybe it would hit something, anything, if maybe there was an end to the end of the world.
And I sat there for a long time and thought about jumping into it, into the nothing and into the everything, exploding into a million tiny little stars and becoming the things that I’ve been trying to be but I didn’t.
I didn’t and I’m not sure if that was smart of stupid. I didn’t and I’m not sure if I’m building something, or tearing everything down. We’re all supposed to sacrifice, isn’t that right? For things that are solid and strong and unmoving, but solid is breakable and dry. I had a dream I punched a brick wall and it moved like jello, so I pushed my hands into it and lets the red of the brick coat my hands and it felt good.
We are, as we are supposed, as we are supposed to, but I can’t seem to be in the way that I should.