Life With Toast

whispers of experience July 24th

Something building up, there it is. In the corner of the room, staring through my lens, fogging the view. Can't place the feeling, covered by a vague and familiar residue. Like holding bags for someone who isn't coming back. I stare at the wall, nothing has room to grow, walls are closer now. 

Not wanting to do anything in particular or much at all. So I don't, not running away, not distracting, but letting the wave come. It too will pass, if I let it. The wall is crumbling. I know it's foundation is built on puddy, on thoughts of thoughts and not cement, not the real stuff. Being with it is like sitting at the top of a slide that winds underneath and all about. I know that once I start the movement, I can let go and allow natural force to guide me back some intricate path. There it is, finally realising grip for a few moments. For no reason, bare. Nothing was in the corner, just a mirror from some place long passed. There was room to stop, and I am thankful. Afterwards, a feeling of relief. A feeling of having done something that was needed; blowing your nose. I can breathe again.