today i hold the hand of existence, of self, of muddled understanding, and sight through scratched and hot-breath-fogged lenses caught between sun and tsunami
i will be still through torrential downpours of doubt, desire, and detriment, because i must learn to be still and to be soaked to the bone with what each storm i've born washes over me
while skin may prune and hold moisture, mind and soul will hold nothing but the breath which never ceases to come and go, whether in this life or the next
to be alive is not to be conscious, but to be conscious is to be truly alive