The rhythm of you does not match mine. My rhythm is quick.
With the startling snap of a rubber band, I switch. I pull. I break. My determination gets exhausting.
Convincing me to leave is easy. I do not know if I want to change this about me. However, I must forewarn.
I am so confused.
Withdrawn. I blame my frigidity on grief, and at times my grief is a valid enough reason. Reason? Yes. Excuse? No.
I constantly want to be apologized to. For things out of my control, and frankly out of anyone else’s for that matter.
I am conflicted.
Jealousy of the nomads boils underneath my skin. Every step is a solace, every mile is a recluse. Serenity and joy interlocking fingers, a rarity not known to the common person.
I love my ideology of home not being a place, but people. And yet I want to kick everyone out. Loneliness bestows upon me with a familiarity that tastes like food you never liked as a child but have grown fond of into adulthood. I am fond of loneliness. Loneliness is a sign that my life is continuing. A blessing that is fleeting.
My internal giggle is loud as I realize I am saying everything and nothing at the same time.
I just have a hard time admitting specific events in my personal life. I thought there was nothing I wanted to hide from the world, but I do not find my privacy as something to hide. Intimacy being shared in small parties makes my heart happy.
Finality doesn’t have a place in my thought processes. I recently began to think about (incoming astrology knowledge) my Jupiter sign being in Taurus. And not feeling grateful for the placement at all. Jupiter has a focal point on luck and the future. And I find Taurus placements a lot of things: lucky and future provoking thoughts are not any of those things. I am speaking gibberish to some but others will get what I’m trying to say. And I doubt this will happen, but I promise I don’t care about your opinion on astrology. If my safety blanket, my reaching for answers includes me delving into astrology (not very deep mind you), then so be it. Worser actions have delivered themselves onto my body and my mind.
When I think of Taurus, I think of monopolies. Selfishness. A very fixed way of going about situations. Why would I want my future perception to be monetized, full of me, an centered around one path? Atrocious if you ask me. Alas, I remain not really caring specifically about what the future holds, but I know that the future is okay, and I am happy in it and hard at work always.
Even if the work isn’t as satisfying as previous work is/was. Ebbs and flows in life (especially career wise) are prevalent and my favorite concept to dawn on.
Recently I’ve been caring more about items, phenomenons, occurrences that I never cared about before. I miss my ignorance sometimes. The uncertainty, not so much. The cushioning, a million times over.
I see young faces, excited, proud, having fun. As they should be. I am just not seeing that emulating in me. I deserve that.
Maybe the bitterness holds routes in weather, hormones, unexpected goodbyes, feeling just plain old stupid. But maybe I am tired.
Someone pick up the weight of the world with me. Wrap me up in your arms. Tell me I am doing a good job. I didn’t think the latter took precedence over the others but it absolutely does. I love me a “keep up the good work”, “you did great today”, “you’re doing amazing”. Not even translated into any type of physical intimacy (yes I’m talking to the occasional elite harmless cute gal who peeped my encouragement and entered the realms of smut books and various sex scenes from films in the deep trenches of their minds. Keep doing you but they’re not my thing).
Onward and upward.
Runners usually don’t like the act of running until they’re finished. Their body reaps from running right after, but gives its thanks soon after with keeping it in shape. There is such thing as too much running. Stepping wrong. Chafing. Missing turns. I’m damn near rolling down a hill.
Drummers are educated. Sought out. In the back ever so confidently, with a grip on their drumsticks and furrowed eyebrows with fleeting eyes. They provide deep sounds in songs, they give so much to the rhythm. Efficacy, precision. A sound even deaf ppl can feel.
I am envious. And runners will admit they are envious. Runners are dreamers.
Drummers don’t have to admit that they’re envious. They have nothing to be envious about. Their rhythm gives heartbeat while mine gives adrenaline.
Harmony is sought in both actions. In all climate seasons. In all houses. Harmony seems out of reach for the runner and tightly woven into the grasp of a drummer.
I don’t find myself ever being a drummer.
[Image description: a heterosexual couple statue with the man on his knees resting his face against a standing woman’s upper thighs. The woman has her hands stretched onto his head, as if to acknowledge his placement and support it but also keep her boundaries. The man is the drummer, the woman is the runner. In my opinion. Maybe I thrive off of making drummers fall to their knees. Who’s to say besides me? Unfortunately I don’t know who took this photo or made these statues but I can tell you I did not do either and I don’t own the copyrights to the photo.]