*This was written in a writing group where we used a prompt. I wrote about the frustration of not having enough time…
I am marvelous.
I wonder why I can’t see that on a daily basis.
I spend so much time only being a part of myself instead of living as a whole, I forget the rest of how beautiful I’m made.
I hear others around me with time to spare. Time to simply do things that they like or even want to do. What’s that when there are so many have to do’s?
I see balance in the horizon, but it’s not close enough to describe it.
I want what everyone wants: Life. If you have that, what else is needed? Everything else is simply mute.
I pretend to be here, when I’m actually somewhere else. I would say I’m imagining a place where I get to do and be whatever is at whem, but there isn’t even an opportunity to start the process of imagination when reality has such a strong grasp. That upper hand is really a bitch.
I feel tightness in my chest. Some would call it as a heart attack, but it’s actually just a heart that’s being crushed by day-to-day necessities.
I touch light from time to time, but it’s only a glimmer—as though it’s a flame that only has a chance to flicker on occasion. Someone, a beast, keeps using a reflective glass to take away my air leaving me without much breath—only enough to see what’s on the other side of the glass and see hope.
I cry, but not really. There’s no time for tears. Just time for sweat and hard work.
I understand this isn’t forever, but let forever start soon. Today would be just fine, and it may even be consevable, but my mind is so used to finding a way to keep today at a distance.
I am marvelous, I am beautiful, and I’ll stay that way from now until even after my today begins.