Am I immortal?
Have I wandered in thought for ages?
What if my melancholy mind is ten thousand years old?
Is my prescription still accurate doctor?
Three refills?
My habits are ancient.
Once theory, now law.
The leaves go where the wind blows,
eternally.
The waves know.
Drawing back and spilling forth toward the shoreline to be free.
Chaos needs boundaries,
the mind knows.
How many dreams forgotten?
Unintended brushes with the hand of a stranger?
Glances turned to stares?
Words left unsaid?
Chapters closed to smother the hurt?
The sprinkle of windchimes down memorable streets.
Arms full of grocery bags, two trips is too many.
Summer Saturdays.
Rainy Sundays like the cry the sky needed.
We forgive you. You are loved.
Anxious breaths before facing the critics,
sigh of relief, triumph is not debatable.
Loose sweaters and good memories.
Self-loathing and lost keys.
Innovation and doomsday prophets.
Songs that sounded better the second time.
Experimentation when familiarity was truly desired.
Random graffiti with perfect timing.
All the times it all worked out.
All the times it was far from what was intended.
God knows.
About the Creator
Kristen Keenon Fisher
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*Batteries not included.
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