Waves say day after day is the same (Neruda), but a boat drags tendrils of foam that makes vagrant waters. What am I trying to say other than I am not happy with the sad, sorry state of what I see around me, inside me, before me, and behind me?
A restlessness, the desire to escape, to leave, to get away that feels as though it can be assuaged, if only for a time. If I move, if I change, I'll find what I'm looking for. I know I am churning, but it's a motion I have to make. An ineffable effort that seems both futile and as inevitable as gravity, I guess.
No comments:
Post a Comment