Saturday, 2 December 2017

Floundering



There are places I have been and places I frequent wherein I find myself flounderingfloundering to get away, associate, and then escape again. This existenceDoes it add any meaning to what is or what will be? 
I don't have an answer, nor I am looking for one. I am seeking the truth: untold, unheard eased with discomforting certainty.
I am glad it is only water and not land for it will keep away the imprints of my feet. But I am scared that I might either dissolve before time or escape too soon—with the sand slipping beneath my feet—making its way home.

Dissolve. Until there is no existence left.

I wish I had wings.



On side note, I now know why happy is associated with clams.

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