Vulnerable Spring

The dull taste of fatigue is in my mouth today, and life feels as ungraspable as sand through my fingers. The sun courses deceptively warm tracks across the bedroom floor, while outside a Wintry air is biting down on the pleasant scenes of work. I'm tumbling and rolling things around inside me, like an ill-balanced washer digesting pairs of sneakers, and I'm frustrated with myself, which adds unnecessary virulence to the process. I started out on a path to come to terms with an ill-fitted brick in an otherwise happy existence, and I find myself diverted down an all-too-familiar by-way: imaginative fantasy laced strongly with emotion. So in barrels frustration, bouncing along in tandem wiggles the facade of the completely natural, and the original issue becomes submerged under questions, regrets, and the sudden gush of an end-of-Winter emotional sap run.

Nature is never sarcastic, and I wonder how humanity developed the taste for it, myself included. Maybe we know that something deep is not right, but we can't conceive of how to adapt to the harmonious path the world around us flows in unceasingly. Maybe we almost want to stop trying, but can't. Can't for love of a life we don't fully understand.

Piece by piece it all gets worked out, and I'll learn to allow myself to take what I need. And slowly, the coarse of my existence will right the wrongs I have taken into myself; this one, and the next, and the next...