This “little” life I lead can be quite fulfilling. This little life can be so utterly boring. This little life is mine and mine alone. This little life I’d like to change. This little life feels like it’s been forever already. This little life can be busy. This little life has always been so lonely. Only you would call it a “little” life. And for that, you disgust me.
This oppressive air is going to be the death of me.
It’s already killed my spirit and it’s quickly taking my soul.
If I had lived, really lived, when I was freer would I still feel like this?
I believe this is what people call regret.
I wish I had never met that devil of a feeling.
My clipped wings have never felt so tight and I worry they’ll never be full in flight again.
There’s no sense fighting it right now.
I can’t see any form of freedom in even my far off future.
I fear I’ll have no urge to live once I have true freedom.
Can someone breathe new life into me?
Can something free these clipped wings?
Home is the wild Atlantic ocean and forests of Nova Scotia. It’s the busy streets and beautiful buildings of Ottawa. It’s a four bedroom red brick house in a small town called Russell. Home is the quaint house and gorgeous yard of my grandma and grandpa’s. The tiny little house on main street in Radville that I first called my own. It’s a quarter of land with the simple title of SW35-4-18-W2. Home to me is sunshine, blue skies, greenness, pretty flowers, and gravel roads. A bookcase full of my favorites and words that speak to me. It’s the eternal warmth I feel in both of my sisters arms. It’s my dad’s laugh. The glimmer in my kids’ eyes. Home is wherever I have felt alive.
These inner thoughts That can’t be spoken. Nor written. Nor even whispered. Not for fear of judgment. But for fear of non-understanding. Don’t think me crazy or bored or insufficient if I break open and spill these twirling words. Someone has to have these innermost thoughts just the same as me.
Perhaps I’ll never know that someone.
Safe. How he always made me feel.
His smirk. Just one of many things I loved about him.
Wide open blue eyes. I always felt special when I saw myself in them.
His wit. I knew I’d laugh if he was in the group.
That smile. Big, bright, and meant for us all.
If I could have battled his demons alongside him, I would have.
A lifetime with him would have never been enough.
I see you in the stars at night.
The blackest nights.
I thought I spotted you in a crowded street. I yelled your name.
You kept walking away.
I’ve seen your face reflected in the ocean.
A wave came and it was just myself I saw.
You will be in every new place I see. Your memory in all the old ones.
I won’t ever stop looking.
I am more than my parts. More than just the parts you or I see.
I am coffee, caramel, and sleep. I am thoughts and dreams. I am legs, butt, and blue eyes. I am passion. Color, hot showers, and books. I am green grass and cool breezes. Feelings, stretch marks, and wildness. I am boredom, soft parts, and restlessness. Long drives and loud music. I am WORDS.
I am my heart. My soul.