Static Motion

Tonight is one of those nights. Up late. Mulling over love and the meaning of life when it sounds like the whole world has gone to bed besides me. I’ve got the hum of a window fan and the quiet sound of my boyfriend’s breathing to keep me company. “Isn’t it odd sometimes? I asked just before he fell into his dreams… “Isn’t it funny to think how we ended up here?” But I was already too lost in my thoughts to remember what he might have said in response.

Maybe it’s all the water I have been drinking (in part as a challenge for myself) to wash away toxins and have clearer skin and less wrinkles and *fingers crossed* less headaches and migraines. So much water, that my heart and mind can’t help but be a little cleansed too. Old musings and bits of wonder and questions too big for a tired mind to handle washing up. These thoughts like well-worn beach glass, showing up at random, catching my attention.

It is a difficult thing being satisfied with where you are, who you are and feeling the pull, way deep down in your heart and in your soul that things will have to change. That constant push and pull between static and motion. When you stop, just for a second and realize that each of us accepts or creates the life we think we deserve, that we think will best work in our favor. I’m not there yet.

Shouldn’t we be allowed to willingly shed our skin and grow into better versions of ourselves? That those who believe people can change be given the grace to do as much?

If you ask me, yes.. But I am the biased creator of my sleepy, rambling universe and it so long, so long past my bedtime.

With love but mostly light,

Michelle

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