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bird; on becoming transparent
There is no anchor that defines me anymore. I'm vulnerable. Lost. Friends say these feeling I should use to my advantage. Once I move I'm going to force myself to start making things again. But even now, making anything seems unfulfilling in my quest to feel at ease. I'm waiting to snap.
I'm waiting to be woken.
People have these solid identities, at least to me, although some fake it, or maybe all fake it so well they don't know they are faking it. They are cemented into their lives and they have their worlds. There is freedom in being entrenched. I have too much freedom, ... I can do anything. This is paralyzing me.
7:28 p.m. - 2008-05-12
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