I have this way of drifting and dropping
in and out of “normal” life,
in and out of tasks, of time, of timing
of accomplishment; wanting to accomplish
more than yesterday, but a little less
than tomorrow – what “should” be done,
what “must” be done – “must” or what?
“Could”, “can”, “might” –
I’m still getting to know them all
relics of a time where I was more carefree
but cared about what mattered.
Finally,
I’m moving through life at my very own pace
instead of trying to win someone else’s race.
I am
just what I am, not what I’ve been asked to be.
I’ve said many farewells – but not one to “me”.
At their worst, the flames can burn away all traces of what you knew – the past, the present and the future vanish into violent, or sometimes therapeutic amber hues.
At their best, they can light up the darkness so you can see the outline of the path you’re meant to take.
It all depends on who strikes the match, and when – and why.
Little by little the light filters in,
caressing the creases in the curtains.
The chill of the wind is a little warmer,
the tightness of your chest a little looser.
The pillow underneath your head
keeps its shape through your slumber
all the way to your grand awakening,
when little by little the light filters in
caressing the creases in the curtains.
Just Little Green Buttons 