Private Thoughts: 0302181747
I sometimes feel like a dense cloud, looming over things. Dense and indecisive, as if I’m hesitant to release what’s been building inside of me. I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade. Yet, I also understand that the longer I remain this way, the longer I block the sun for those I loom over; the longer I withhold nature’s course; the longer I hover in between states of being.
Alas, I remain.
I envy those who embrace the journey of it all. In small glimpses, I’ve felt what it’s like to fall and flow as water, or to rise and float as the air. It is to follow a pure path. It is freedom - life. However - to be free only in small glimpses, is not to be free.
If I could even be so free with the words I use - to let them pour out of me like the rain I’m one day destined to become - I wonder what I’d say. I wonder what kind of storm I’d be.
Perhaps that’s the problem: I’m too concerned about the storm itself, rather than what comes after it settles; the things that wait for me after I come crashing down.
I could join a river. I could diffract a rainbow. I could nourish a field. I could unveil a clear sky. I could reveal a sun.
Alas, I remain. The dense, looming cloud.