I want the air to surround me, hug me,
losing myself in its invisible arms
and therefore finding something meaningful
in its transparent substance.
I do not want to cower from the implications
that I am so dependent on this traceless vapour.
Make me crave you, I think, hoping it hears my wish,
welcome me as I so desperately want to welcome you.
So I stand paralysed staring into the unknown,
the endless vortex of existence,
hypnotising me with its mystery, torment and beauty,
divinity, chaos and serenity;
the paradox of living and reality.
To be a human is to be a reflection of the dazzling mess of life;
how can I not take in the wonders of the universe each time I inhale?
My breath is power, the air my hero,
it gives me strength even in times I fight ruthlessly against it.
What is this strange instinct, this stubborn ingrained desire,
this anonymous impulse that never changes or falters?
Why won't it tell me what it's here for, why it persists,
I want to be informed on what it has to offer me.
So show me, I say to nothing, come out and reveal your secrets,
stop your hiding and give me everything there is to know, consume, devour.
I want to be nourished with it, overwhelmed with it,
so show me that this life is worth living.
The vast and depthless road of reality stretches out for so long it scares me,
the plethora of choices, unlimited possibilities,
fear traps me, foolishly, I allow it to strike me
in every way, shape and form
even when I told it to do everything it can to excite me.
It kept its promise well it seemed, it obeyed my order,
now I'm stuck between two states, helpless and frozen.
It turns out I'm not really sure I can handle it.
It turns out I'm not really sure what I want, ever.