You're Gonna Love It -- Return

There’s no life in precedent. I’ve lived this moment before, and I won’t live it again. There’s life in the layers beyond my vision. I can try my best to find peace out the window, but the more I look into the sky, the deeper I dive into the sea. How can light be so bright and layered, melting into my eyes? I never seem to appreciate the watchful way the sun drapes herself over the afternoon city.

Another day, I watch the rain outside and feel myself melting into it; every drop part of a rainstorm within the walls of my skull. Individually discernible ideas and emotions get flooded and muddled at the pits of my brain. How do I sort through a puddle?

I sink into the sturdy ground, I surpass the vacant sky. I think of light from a street lamp, I think of salt on the roads, I think of bees in the park. I look at so many people I start to find myself in them. I wish I could find myself in them. I am reminded at my malleable future in the grip of my calloused hands. I feel like I’ve never before, and then a thousand times again: each moment lived before is inaccessible. I think of the past and reflections of myself and the mirrored parts in people around me. I am the spirit leaving a body and becoming a friend.

I run in circles and return to myself.