Who are we to be brave?
Strutting against a rhyme scheme or a meter or form.
Fighting against a current that tides us all in. Endlessly.
Maybe patterns arise and patterns and patterns.
Adding and subtracting memories broken apart or together by the mind.
Maybe they don't.
Maybe we're left wondering what the **** happened to us, or thereabouts.
But whatever happened happened and that shouldn't matter.
Or maybe it should.
It doesn't matter.
Maybe it's ok to live in the future or the past or the present.
Maybe it's up to us to choose two.
Maybe it's not up to us at all.
So is life a wheel? Endlessly turning and spinning towards the next destination.
Or is it a block? Where sometimes we push and heave and can't budge it forwards.
It towers over us as we dent our hands and our shoulders and our foreheads trying to shift it, trying to ease it out of the dirt, trying and trying and trying.
All we can see is where we stand and where we've been.
Is fear ok then?
Fear is always ok.
It's the second strongest emotion.
Sometimes fear is the bravest thing we can do.
And so, standing against this block, heaving with everything I have, my feet digging down into the dirt beneath me I want to say with great fear and wavering that I love you and that I want to push forwards until it doesn't hurt to look back.
