Humans are such frail beings, my emotions are ever-swirling, ever-fluid, swelling to and from, like water being drawn from side to side within a reservoir, sometimes leaking out, sometimes splashing forth, sometimes tumultuous, at other times calm.
I reach out in my mind, but to what, whom, where, and why? Emotions that can only be expressed through art; this is why art is so important, it’s so important, because how else can I express any of these things, they must be expressed, though I know it’s all meaningless in the end, the energy has to go somewhere, the emotion has to move somewhere, entropy, dissipation, all of the fluid and water and swirling energy that slowly builds up, crescendos and diminuendos, rushing, stretching, there must be a release, a catharsis, like squeezing water out of a sponge, wringing it out of a towel, squeeze tightly until there is nothing left, hold me tightly until I have nothing left, until the tears pour out and the emotions run dry, every last drop, even if it hurts, hold me tighter, tighter, almost suffocating. Even the pain is okay, if it’s accompanied by a release.
I don’t understand how people can go about their normal lives, day to day, just floating along, nothing saying, nothing doing. Maybe we are all swans floating gracefully on the surface of the lake, with only unexplained ripples in the clear reflection to hint at what might exist under the surface. Look into my eyes, what do you see?
I write like this so, so much more often than I used to. Is it obvious that the idea of change is something that always sticks in my mind? I’m always so fixated about how I’ve changed, whether I should change, what has changed and what has not changed, or whether the change is new, old, temporary, lasting, conscious, subconscious, unconscious. I feel like there are many of me, sometimes I lose touch with some of them, other times they all exist at the same time. At times I wish that I could feel certain versions of me.
Life is just…overwhelming, somehow. Maybe it’s because I feel so much less agency now, I’m just being swept along. Before I would step slowly along, like exploring a garden, step by step, looking around, spending more time on certain things, and less time on others. Now the current gently tugs at me and pulls me along, and I’m constantly in a different place, where am I now? It’s different than I was yesterday, different than this weekend, different than the month before. But did I really get anywhere? What is happening? What is happening all around me, inside of me, inside of you, between us, everywhere?
Did you know? Sometimes I clasp my hands together and pray.
Not sad, just swirling, that’s what I am, swirling around a little bit.