I am the painting of a perfect day, that is not perfect now, but the ideal, that exists, and is the possibility of beginning to feel
I am the idea that one day I will be, because I can see, so I can come out.
I am the feeling of not having to feel perpetually without.
I feel hope, I feel peace, even if I scream and cry, I can feel the possibility of something if I keep going and continue to be honest with myself,
I will discover what else is out there, I am not always stuck here.
I am the ability to see forward motion, if anything that is what is different, I am may at sometimes, be chaotic, pacing itself, runing or chasing, but I see forward motion, a direction, a towards, not a forlorn staring, always and forever into nothing. I am at least focused on somewhere not nowhere.
I used to be nowhere, desiring nothing, wanting only more nowhere, because nowhere had things not found in somewhere, but only in the perpetual pause of nowhere, justified,
By distilled misery, put on ice or intensified, and injected into situations to be experienced rapidly, thinking that it would feel better slowly or quickly eating my own death, than experiencing life on life’s terms.
If nothing else I see this now, I see clearly now, and I may cry, or scream, or fight the universe, I may have a hissy fit the whole time, but I am no longer diluting my reality so I can consume it shot by shot.