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diaryland
water similes
24 October 2007 - 06:37
From a #12 bus stop:
Here "I" am, like always: waiting for the bus, my hair bobbed, sparkly shirt, sparkly purse, black coat. Writing in my book. But is this me? Perhaps what I mean is that I loved my role of being crazed by beauty and sadness in a new place, uncertain of what is constant, but I don't see how I can step back into it.
That desires that moved me then came from another direction altogether. They rose up from inside me like black water, always threatening to choke me, drown me.
I feel like I've been spit out -- emerged miraculously -- into another world, a world where everything is easier, lighter. Preferences replace urges. Ripples of discontent along my psyche are replacing the all out war I once waged against myself.
It almost feels as though I used to be a waterfall, and I had no choice but to fall off a cliff, but the water ran out and now I am just the pool it used to fall into. What does a pool of water want to do?
Do you see how ridiculous the question seems? What do I want?
That *is* the question now, rather than, "How will I ever get what I need?"
I am starting to get the feeling that in order to get the charge out of life I did when I was younger, I need to formulate a truly ambitious answer to that question.
Perhaps I shall evaporate and form a cloud.
