I wonder about our designated roles in life. The lots we put ourselves in and then struggle so hard to escape from. We put bars around our lot… call them psychoses, neuroses, bad luck… we medicate… we run… we give in… we die inside that space. I’ve seen people slip through those cracks… I’ve done it myself before. It would seem that for me, it’s a short lived victory.
The moment I find myself outside of one terrifying reality, I realize that I’ve run straight into a new and much more frightening temporary land.
The truth about me though… I am destined. I am meant to be a memory. A moment. There are times when I feel as if my entire being is constructed of evaporated tears that have condensed into a form merely baring semblance to a person but having no real substance for which anyone would ever try to hold. It is sad to be a cloud.
Most days, the best I can hope for is to be a happy moment. Remembered fondly like a day spent on the grass staring at those shape shifters in the sky.