This morning I woke up with a stuffy nose, a tight chest, and a cough. It seems to be a common occurrence, like the cold that rattles through me never fully goes away. I can feel its restriction, imagining a chalky lining around my lungs and heart. When I breathe deep I can feel the deep tissue red from irritation, coated in that evil film that oppresses my ability to fully breathe. Sometimes, when I run and can’t seem to get the air all the way up through my lungs, I visualize the struggle it must fight past that chalky wall of illness. It tries to swim up through my lungs to the top of my chest, through my throat, but gets lost along the way. It sticks to the film and bubbles like caramelized sugar before turning to fudge on the walls of the organs I need to breathe freely. I wish I could draw it or show it in some way. The feeling and the mental image are hard to explain to someone whose mind isn’t constantly visualizing feelings.
“What did you think of him?”
The question cuts through the fog of my daydream, jarring me back to reality. “Think of him?” I asked clearing my brain of the haze.
She scoffs, rolling her eyes at me and spelling it out, “YES, What. Did. You. Think. Of. Him?”
My mind pulls toward the far more delightful corners of my imagination which had set me on a beautiful day dream far away from here. I want to tell her that I was too busy thinking about what it would be like to wake up with the ability to fly and venture across the globe at a moments notice. I was thinking about my dream bookstore-coffee shop, complete with a spiral staircase, sliding latter, large comfy sofas, and more outlets than you could ever need. Actually, in that moment, my brain was on a beautiful adventure through the streets of Cusco, on a quest to find a mystery weaver that had created a magical yarn. Not just any yarn, but one that would allow any wearer of the sweaters it knitted to transport into other realms…
But, I don’t tell her any of that. Instead I say, “what did I think of him..? I didn’t.”
I want you to know that the world will end
with your heart on the bottom of my floor
I want you to know that I wanted more
even if, it wasn't what I asked for
Look me in the eye and tell me why
your vulnerability could save your life
or, at least, it might save mine
But, we both know the reason I
am still standing back
ready for the attack
you might think your walls are thick
but, honey pie
have you seen mine
God damn cave, a fortress
why, would you deny
the impact we could have
together
pining
high
float above the walls
straight into the sky
you cry
and instead, we never even try
so now I hold the sword
blood drips down the tip
as you sigh
I guess the love wasn't worth the crime
I guess the wait wasn't worth the time
and we die
while I am still
fine
The one thing I’ve always felt up against is time. There is never enough time. It feels like life gives you a limited window with too many options to pack into it, too many choices to make, and too many avenues to explore. If you take option A, you miss out on all the possibilities of option B, or C, or even D, E, F… Hell, maybe option G was the one that let you have it all, if you’d just waited long enough. Better yet, maybe H gave you everything you never knew you could have?! On the other hand, option I might have taken it all away, or J could have dangled a false wonderful only to pull the rug out from under you years later. It’s so hard to know! And yet, time just keeps ticking along, laughing.
“Oh you want kids? - better decide now!”
“Oh you want to travel? - better give up on that person who provides the best opportunity for a happy family life.”
“Oh you want it all?” - good luck kid! Or should I say old woman, ha ha ha ha ha”
Time, what a fickle little bitch.
