Forgetting again? I have.
I’ve gotten caught up in trying to be somebody recently. Change of job responsibilities, physical rehabilitation, mental gymnastics, emotionally taxed, the whole fucking nine.
It wasn’t until this recent yoga session with my eyes closed, focusing on my breath did I realize how much I’ve distracted myself from who I am. In my wildest attempts to be someone, I’ve passed over seeing myself as the one to be. I suppose this is part of the fun though, the rules of engagement with life. Seeking to find purpose outside of who we are without fully being self-actualized.
There are always things to be done that are to be improved upon. The very nature of life means there is more to be lived, and how often does one get caught up in looking for more?
Is it fun to forget? What would be the point of knowing all the answers to trivia? What a miserably mundane existence, to know everything. There would be no magic left in the world. No hidden surprises of heartache, or love.
All food would become bland, songs falling flat, and a bouquet of roses would match the stench of a dumpster.
Well, here’s a short piece of writing to reward you for making it through my mildly depressed and equally hopeful entry.
When you say
“I love you”
I hope it is said to yourself.
I hope these words pass by the heart that beats inside.
That such sounds are bellowed from your feet
to your crown.
That the mind which thinks them,
means them;
Or,
At the very least,
wants to.