Everything is light, I only wanna be lighter. Sit at the edge of my seat, legs skimming invisible water, birdsong in my head, I laugh to myself. You tell me to stop and my heart breaks. There is so much pain in this world, what are you so cheery about? But I know. I understand. I wish it were not so. I wish things were lighter. Close my eyes and all I see are constellations. I knew their names once- when I thought it mattered- when I thought I mattered. Now, I try less and less to matter. You ask me why I don’t demand an audience. Yell from the streets, preaching and teaching what I believe in. But I believe in nothing, I only sense with feeling. I only reach for things I haven’t been taught. I only desire what I’ve never known. Is this wrong? To keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, see faces and expressions and beauty, but not be satisfied with it. Sometimes I think the earth is a canvas and there are all these colors I could paint on it. But I can’t sing or speak or write what I am imagining, so I sit and stare at nothing, my mind etching out shapes I wish were real. The realist in me is always at loggerheads with my thoughts. It tries to shake me out of these endless reveries I am so attuned to. You’ve got to make yourself useful. Look at life passing you by. Don’t you want to do something worthwhile? In all honesty, there is nothing more important to me than understanding the soul of things. From death to demons, from self to shellfish. From baking bread to newlyweds. he he. Yes, I don’t understand how we train ourselves to oblige whatever has come before us. If life is so precious, shouldn’t we be more concerned in discovering its treasures, than inhabiting it and putting more pressure on its sustenance. You call me rebellious and stubborn and I wish you could understand my dilemma. The less I think of all I can do with all my unique talents; the less I focus on how important it is to succeed; the less I try to influence others or the way nature works; the less I harm myself; the less I weigh.