I am not a pretty package, wrapped in a pink bow, with gum drops nestled inside. Oh, how I wish I were. I am, the embodiment of all things. I am the thinker, the dreamer, the doer, the follower, the villain and the White Knight. I wish with all my heart it weren’t so.
Life is easier when we are camouflaged with subtly. I don’t know what that feels like. I wish I did. I wish my mind would stop. Even when I was suspended in that place between life and death, my mind still pushed forward; delicately wondering.
I don’t know what it feels like to have a lover that stands beside me, rests beside me, and holds my hand. I won’t profess to know about that which I’ve never experienced. And thus, the lack thereof, has shaped me. I’m sorry for that.
Over the last year, I met someone, quite my equal. I found familiarity. I found a friend. Both a little messy in the mind, but I didn’t mind. As they struggled to find balance, I had to pull away to preserve my own. I don’t regret the decision, but it was not an easy one. Then afterward, a breath of fresh air entered my lungs. I inhaled deeply. But, their mind is not of the messy variety. Where they do view the world with wonder, they see it with linear lines that keep things held neatly in place. Of course, I envy them that, as those like me would do. I enjoyed their balance. But I’m sure they did not enjoy my open view of the world.
People wonder about thinkers, creative types that live to stir up the world and paint it boldly. We thrust our hand deep within the hearts of man, wanting them to feel a morsel of the emotion that we live with daily. And in the doing, we make them pause. To make the reader pause is success to a writer. Question all that is. Question who you are, and all that you long for. That is my work. But when I rest my head, I want to stare into the face of one that is grounded. When I look into their eyes, where ever their pillow may be, I want to know that I am home.
Such a thing rarely happens to one like me. A fact I resigned myself to many years ago, even though occasionally I reach out, hoping I’m wrong. I could have dalliances, but choose not to. Life is such a peculiar place. I have to wonder if my work and what rests behind my eyes will ever be home for another. I doubt it. But this is my work. This is who I am.
An untethered mind.
PS ~ Thank you, my dear friends, for loving me. I know it ain’t easy. And thank you sweet Jesus for turning water into wine.
Written to My Body by Young the Giant