do it all. with feeling.

 

you say this to everyone. and then one day you wake up; you’re 27 and you’ve barely lived because you’ve been doing the exact opposite of what you say to others.

 

you wake up and your inner voice croaks from the depths of an abyss you’d forgotten you had: “you intellectualise-”

 

you cut that voice off because surely it’s all utter nonsense. and then you think of how this post changed in the 15 minutes it took you to walk home and now it’s lost that voice that it had when it first sprung from that abyss.

you think of the walls between yourself and everything and you dare to ask why (though you know); how did it come to this?

you live. you live and you scrape and you burn and you sometimes get to fly or hover and it’s all so close to amazing and then one day your whole house burns down and you buy a tent big enough for you- and only you. and you set that tent up in the smouldering embers and you call it home. and when people come to visit you sit inside your tent with the flap zipped halfway and the net zipped all the way and everyone leaves and you wonder why-

smouldering embers that died- doused with water long enough ago, but putting out the fire isn’t enough- and so you clean then up but you don’t throw them away. you make a jenga block out of them and every time someone sits outside your tent you look at that jenga block and remember your home- and the embers- the goddamn embers and how long they stayed burning. warm as they were- giving nothing back. and they leave. sometimes to look at their own embers but you wouldn’t know that because you’re staring at your left-overs. and then one day you throw them away and begin building a new foundation. again. soot slowly rubbing off and away.

 

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