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     May these endless curiosities blossom into more hues and shapes than the human mind could ever fathom. May our wingspans lengthen from ocean to ocean. May our feet touch every grain and leaf of the land. Someday I know my eyes will lay upon wonders only I can obtain over and over and over. The ache eats at me. My heart beats under these layers. I’m a virgin to many emotions and experiences. So much drifts before and after me. What will I feel? What shall I amount to? How many voices shall I lend my ears to, taking it all in one stride? I wish I knew them now. Names yet unspoken on my tongue. Stories waiting to be heard. My eyes now begin to swell with the thought of it. 2am spurts of texts. Is this what heroine feels like? 

     My hands now yearn to touch these foreign lands and foreign bodies. Will I meet a love so great that my reality shifts to a new hue? What name do I await to hear, what voice do I wish to speak my name? Whose hands will grasp me in the night and speak softly in the morning? 

     Oh, so much to learn and soak in. 

     I get ahead of myself now.

     I wish I were more religious than I am now. Yet, I question what constitutes as so. I could pray everyday and read every scripture, but never change. With who I am now, and with what I have been taught, I know I’m not a bad person. Yes, I have slip ups every now and then---or everyday depending on the person. I can revel in the fact that I try not to fall into the pit of hypocrisy---but that’s biased isn’t it? Who am I to say I’m any better than the person next to me? As much as I could, I try to ride every current on the best route. To be fair, I still feel like I don’t exist. I know I have an impact, a voice. But I fall into that dissociation shadow. My mind creeps into the corner, wrapping itself up in numerous loops.

   Whose story will I tell? My own? Beyond everything, I want to hear the voice yet to be heard. Maybe my loneliness is due to the fact that I haven’t heard it yet. Perhaps it isn’t loneliness at all, but the thought that I haven’t accomplished anything yet. Yet, yet, yet. Always soon, always later. Where’s the now? DRIVE! DRIVE! Oh, how pervasive these thoughts are. Not enough, never enough. Where does that end and the new begin? How much I desire to weep it all out only to swallow it back up. How my eyes dart across the room seeking the warmth of a sunrise. New day! Come faster than the last, I beg. What exactly is that drive to speak at 2am? Where does it stride in from? The persistent thoughts of a daydreamer. (I do hate sleeping beyond a nap.) My toes start twitching while my ears ring for sound.

   I hear the shaking of the reeds now, cast against the rosy clouds floating on indigo. Speckled, the gold dances on the water. Beams fade and starlight emerges.

Disperse (v): to drive off or scatter in different directions; dissipate; dispel

Forth comes the touch,

Brought by the silver waves,

Of impeding memory.

Eyes shine through mist,

Unclouded with intent.

May my voice reach you,

“Ceteris paribus” (Latin phrase): with other conditions remaining the same.

        If everything remains the same, where will I end? My body? My thoughts? My psyche? My soul? 

       I’m scared of change, scared to communicate, scared to commit, scared to open up. What shall I gain, however, by not marking new rings of growth? I am not like nature, forever running through the same loops over and over again.

      Yet, are not the seasons’ endless changes and the stages of life the same? After all, they are the result of the ever-revolving movement of the world. 

     There are no definite stepping stones, but the realization of that truth brings a new sense of being: trust in oneself. To firmly grasp one’s own limitations, whilst calmly standing among it, births peace to the soul. 

     There lies a point in the psyche where philosophical dissociation meets the concreteness of reality. One might believe they provide nothing in the end. The polar point, however, entrusts a resolute serenity in this plane of life. We must accept this reality in order to achieve happiness.

        Boredom. Boredom fills me every rolling day. Whether it’s dissociating from the present, or slowly being drained by each word passing. The feeling lingers upon me. 

       A chain drags across the floor, attached to my ankle, attached to an incomprehensible weight. I cannot point to what caused this weight. Nor could I say what could lift it. Yet, what am I expecting? Magic doesn’t exist. Wishes don’t come true. The tender little friend blue will never show.

     Why do I search for recognition so intently, fully knowing that it only sinks so deep? Utter shallowness. Complete inadequacy. Awkward pauses and side glances. Why am I still the small girl in my head? A small girl who seeks unyielding attention or the spark of compassion? I cannot grasp it.