Lately, the brush I use to paint my life seems frozen or without paint. I can forget this when the sun is warm and may flowers are swinging like a trapeze in the breeze, but if you took a magnifying glass and placed my moods in red ink on a map, you would see that I am utterly lost. I have fingers that work for stirring tea leaves. I have somebody to love. I have more friends than two hands could hold. I have wolves in my banjo and birds in my guitar. You would think this could be enough to fill the holes in a heart or to make a canvas rich in color, but as of late - it's not.
I want something else — something stranger. I want to quit feeling like I am forgotten luggage meant for the departure wing of an airport. I deserve more than this, not for any other reason than the fact that I am a human being with only so many days left for breathing. Most of the time, I am at peace with a cup of coffee and a window seat leading to the backyard where I watch whistling songbirds fly from their perch and let life begin again. Most of the time, being alive is enough for me. I don't need to be kissed, to be warmed by a fire or to travel to a new country. I don't need to fit into the boxes society tells me to or change who I am to fit somebody else's plans, but lately, I keep putting a question mark at the end of every "I am who I am."
I have become one of those women you either are or you hear about — we are muses, we stay in the shadows even if we are destined for the light, we give and we give until we are bones. Nobody is telling me to be this way, and sometimes, I'm perfectly happy, but other times, it's only natural for women like this to stop and gasp at how little we take for ourselves. I spend all of my spare time worrying about somebody else and I let the seconds in a day slip away like it's only sand from an hourglass, but this is it, this is my life — wild, strange, wonderful, and slip slip slipping away.
I want to run like I am running to, not running from. I want to remember what it felt like to be in love with the world even when the sun was hiding and the day had no light. I am bored and yet I am fully aware of how life for me is intrinsically rewarding, more so than many lives who follow the path well trodden, but I have settled for what is as if I must drink tea leaves out of the same cup for the rest of my life.
I keep waiting for somebody to swoop in and bring purpose and paint into my life. I dine on the glow of morning and continue doing what I have always done. Yes, there is poetry. Yes, there is music. Yes, there is love from the floorboard all the way to the roof. It is not an absence of love or wonder I hold in my wrath, it is a lack of something new, something different, something that scares me and spurs me into growing.
It is not yet time for waiting. It is now where I must run into a new set of woods and find in myself a way of stepping out from under the shadow and into the sunshine. Unless my heart removes its beat or my lungs refuse to work, I will always have my reasons to run.
outfit details: everything was found at a thrift store