not to get too serious. and not to be so cut and dry. but i like what i like. and then the next-day rolls around.
and i fear that the blues will go away. and i fear that the little wrinkles will come back. and i feel things burning instead of exploding.
and i am okay with that. i am alright with the ups sky high and brilliant.
and the coming downs and the downs. the muddy feet. sweaty brow scowls and sour tension. squeezing somewhere deeper than my brain can reach.
huge itches that smolder very very intensely.
last night i watched a fire burn. and the wood separated from the heat into little rectangular cells bright red and glowing. only turning to ash in the morning.
and i thought about how things sit. and stir. and radiate. and burn. and send heat outwards and upon themselves simultaneously.
and i sat with bugs whirling their sounds around me. thinking that the world is so big when you are human-sized. and just as big when you are insect-sized. it just matters how much of it you know (of/about//recognize).
so it was okay to just stare into the night while everyone else sat in silence. and then complained about doing nothing the next day.