harvesting some sort of feeling.

We were meant for this.
Meant to look out the windows into the sunset and see the whole future laid out before our eyes
Laid out to show their Sunday best pinned with flowers to coat collars
Holding in place what may never move anyway
The security of the lake
That will never touch the ocean’s sand
That will never interfere with the annual penguin march.
We were meant for this.
Meant to hold our heads back enjoying the lights and the trees and the smell of the breeze
That floated through our smoke to tell us it is time for autumn.
The responsibility
Of shuffling lightheartedly through leaves
That we can’t let upset us for fear of getting nothing in return.
We were meant for this
This time of need and of hope and sadness and struggle between ourselves and our new molting skins
Because everyone knows that there’s nothing more frustrating than your stripes being crooked and in the wrong place and wondering why we were so drunk the past four nights.
There comes a crossroads in the path to what is real and what should be real
Where it’s hard to let go of what hurts and helps and harms and horrifies and hastens and halts.
But in the end, things always looks better from the beginning.

-lbr