These Roads

I wrap the elastics around my wrists absentmindedly and forget about them until suddenly, hours later, they are cutting into my skin, a noose for my hands. Often, I don’t know I’m carrying something until it leaves a mark.

I stop wanting. I make myself stop wanting and instead open my heart to the world. World, I say. Bring me what you will. I’m ready. I’ve got my boots laced and my gloves on. I’ll go out swinging.

I laugh more. I stop worrying what a touch might mean or if I’m asking questions implicitly, with my fingertips and lips. I don’t care.

I say, World, keep me warm. You’re bigger and stronger but I’m wily like a fox and even fantastic foxes need to rest. I could slip out and run off or we could learn to coexist. Scratch my back, World. I’ll scratch yours. My nails aren’t as long as you think they are.

I drink up the people around me with great gulps. Cool, clear, levelheaded. Drinking for nourishment not for thirst.

I didn’t even realize I was dehydrated until my throat ached and my tongue dried up. Just like I didn’t know I’d stopped missing you until you started missing me.

It’s funny the places our feet take us when we stop counting the steps.

These roads don’t move, you’re the one that moves.

Ben Gibbard and Jay Farrar – These Roads Don’t Move

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8 thoughts on “These Roads”

  1. Every post of yours that I read, I think, that’s the best one yet or that’s my favorite yet. I love it. Your writing finds words for the emotions I get blown away by.

  2. I oftentimes realize, after the fact, the great weight I was carrying. It takes a stop in the road for me to finally set it all down and start unpacking and seeing how very much I can leave behind.

    Beautiful post, as always.

  3. It’s time I de-lurk and let you know how the density of your writing floors me. I can’t say I know what’s going on. But I can feel it. And that’s ultimately what poetic prose is supposed to do.

    Just… woah.

  4. I read a joke recently about relative motion. It’s funnier if you know a little something about Einstein.

    A physicist meets Albert Einstein on a train. “Doctor Einstein,” he asks, “what time does New York City arrive at this train?”

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