There grew parts of us that no longer fit like they used to. Every other word a torrential downpour crushing, inundating the ground beneath our feet. Between our bodies opened a gash due to the pouring rain softening our foundation until we slowly drifted away. The rains grew heavier as our hands outstretched and we gave in under the weight. I guess… Our passion, once a flame, has now been doused away.
An abstract thought of circular and staggered indicators,
A clock ticking away moments in space,
We are led in symbols of infinity with looped pathways,
Everything moves at the correct pace.
I am a woman who already knows what she wants. I can’t sit at my kitchen table waiting when I’m in a state of perpetual motion.
Barefoot amidst the movement of lapping, cold waves—a gentle soul walks onward into the ocean. Mangrove branches loop out from the water and marine alluvium soils. Tiny fish grow within the intertidal zone, protected by the plants and disrupted by her calm feet digging into the sand. Hair wild amidst the cool sun rays softly kissing each eye into a deeper caramel hue. The water against her strong ankles as low pools fill and recede into the Earth. Gusts pick up cooling a body flowing in tandem with the ocean waves as the heart connects to the soul of the ocean.
It is in the last falling drop of rain that I remember the reasons between transitions. The last few molecules are the ones that mix between the coolness of the water and the warmth of the sun finally starting to peek through the clouds. It is those dissipating pieces of fluff that connect you to the world above and that one below all within the layers of the atmosphere—so think…which route will you take?
Many of these moments are combined with tantalizing thoughts of what is and what has been, thoughts of what will be quietly hidden away in the breaths that I take. I find myself waiting for a lightning strike to shake me into action. I find myself seeking out fast-moving clouds in a late morning sky where all that you see is gray and movement even though you know the sun should have been visible by now. It is I who waits like the hydrated ground while the raindrops falling from the leaves gently pummel my surface like a persistent knock at my door—the truth is waiting to get in.
Every day is magnanimous in its own way. Some days I drive hours to arrive at a destination; when I do I…breathe… deeply and feel proud of the trek and the productivity that I pushed myself into. The road takes me in loops at dangerously high speeds, yet it’s not actually so bad. For some time I don’t have to think, the only gears moving are the car’s. I breathe and sometimes I hold on tightly to the wheel for I am still a fairly new driver. Along the same veign I realize that I no longer feign to make it like I used to. I make it to my destination now and yes, at times I still get lost or nervous and even a little scared–but damn it, I MAKE it. Someday I exude my best self and others not so much, but still I attempt to pry the doors of my mind open as I try to find more ways to process solutions. Yet every day I am still tired. I am tired of my thoughts in the form of sad poems reminiscing on cycles of misconduct or duress from life. I am tired of moving whether or not it’s with my feet, my hands, or my head. I like to lay in bed at night and listen to soft voices that meditate me into alternative realities that become truth and invigorate my soul even though I am physically and mentally tired. I am at least, spiritually full. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad I am tired. I have purpose and like the car on new roads, I am driven.
The time it takes for a butterfly to pose on a new flower is seemingly short. We are butterflies that flitter towards the bright colors that attract us. When the flower falls short, the butterflies move to a new being. Why not be butterflies?
As a butterfly I just want to have a good time. I want to flutter towards the colors and say forget the light because I’m not a moth today. I’ll use my wing strength to determine whether the flower is worth posing on or not. I’ll only be around until the wind picks up and helps me glide to a new friend. It is the way that life should be, ephemeral and exciting. I don’t think I’ll ever want to stay in one place again. I am the butterfly that falls in love every day with a new event, I don’t care about the end and I don’t have time to worry about where the air currents take me. Let them all take me and disorder me and rid everything I believe in.
You can’t keep me on any flower for longer than a moment or else you’ll squash me. The weight of these expectations is too much to bear and I swear you will wear me down until you tear me in half. I won’t stay for longer than I’m wanted and if by some miracle of God I do, you can expect that it be because I’m not through with you. I’m not a selfish butterfly, I give what I get and then I go to the next petal that entices me. The scent you give off is one I’ll pick up on to the point where I’ll flutter to you, but when you turn bitter you’ll be better…. Without me…