Choking on words that I cannot seem to find.
Desperate for an outlet. Walking, running, crawling to find stillness.
Or avoid it.
Living within a specific ambiguity. A clearly defined gray state of mind.
Divine speaks of approaching purpose, yet fails to mention the perplexity of the in-between time.
Day to day, hour to hour, am I here? Does it matter?
A welcome disruption to my melancholy. Not dependent on your smile to lift me up, but it helps.
The patterns of purpose have seemed to restructure themselves. Maybe they needed to. Maybe the catalyst to finding the light is honoring that it is not lost, but hidden in plain sight.
There is no way to measure, mime, nor mimic the way my chest expands with each inhale of thoughts about you. It is a meal with never ending portions containing all the flavors impossible to taste.
With a full stomach, I have hunger pains for you. Trying to digest, yet reluctant to cease chewing.
I am swallowing this experience.
You have nourished me.