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Time falls away...
Ever feel like you’re simply existing, marking time while you wait for something important, something significant to happen? Something big – you can it feel brewing; something vast and remarkable and you’re sitting on the edge of forever, waiting till it’s just beneath you so you can fall into it.
It’s building, and you don’t know whether it’s bad or good – but you know it will define you, who you are, what your purpose truly is – except no one else feels it. No one sees it, no one senses it, no one else is aware in the slightest that something is coming.
The world and everyone in it shifts a little out of focus, blurred softly around the edges as though you’ve stopped just exactly still while it kept moving, turning, without you. You’re uncertain whether anyone else seems to see, to feel what just happened, if someone else, somewhere else, is experiencing it, too. And you wonder, idly, what the point is when nothing ever happens.
Then it all slides back into place; the feeling is still there, but life goes on. You go back to breathing, to eating and sleeping and doing, all the while knowing you’ve missed something, as though you’ve walked into the tail end of a conversation or the last half of a movie. Or more, as though someone was speaking to you but using a different dialect, so you didn’t catch all he or she was trying to say.
And then you post about it in your journal, knowing somewhere inside that no one will ever know just exactly what you feel, what you’re talking about. But you pose the question anyway because that’s the way hope works, wagging its tail in helpless optimism like a puppy who’s just heard a car door slam and maybe – just maybe – it’s the master or mistress, home to love it up again.
It’s building, and you don’t know whether it’s bad or good – but you know it will define you, who you are, what your purpose truly is – except no one else feels it. No one sees it, no one senses it, no one else is aware in the slightest that something is coming.
The world and everyone in it shifts a little out of focus, blurred softly around the edges as though you’ve stopped just exactly still while it kept moving, turning, without you. You’re uncertain whether anyone else seems to see, to feel what just happened, if someone else, somewhere else, is experiencing it, too. And you wonder, idly, what the point is when nothing ever happens.
Then it all slides back into place; the feeling is still there, but life goes on. You go back to breathing, to eating and sleeping and doing, all the while knowing you’ve missed something, as though you’ve walked into the tail end of a conversation or the last half of a movie. Or more, as though someone was speaking to you but using a different dialect, so you didn’t catch all he or she was trying to say.
And then you post about it in your journal, knowing somewhere inside that no one will ever know just exactly what you feel, what you’re talking about. But you pose the question anyway because that’s the way hope works, wagging its tail in helpless optimism like a puppy who’s just heard a car door slam and maybe – just maybe – it’s the master or mistress, home to love it up again.
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And whatever's got you down, I hope you get some clarity, babe.
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