Tangled

I need joy, I need joy. Music is key. I need to feel tears of complete spiritual fulfillment and song within my heart. I need that magical, enchanted sensation flowing through my veins. I need color, texture, form, shape, and vibrancy.

I can't seem to stay in the present. Worry makes me work hard planning for a future I have no knowledge of. I'm always insecure. Where will I live? Will I have enough money? Will I be on the street? What if all this work, all this internal energy and turmoil, was all for nothing and I'm just a nobody in the end? I've got a major protector part who simply can't let that happen.

Love. It seems so rare. Yet so vital. And what ever is it? Sometimes I like to settle in to thoughts of love, not caring if I'm making it up or still completely clueless about what it really means. Who cares, when your imagination can make you feel good, even if it's temporary.

I am scattered and sprawled over too many passions, too many dreams, too many silly hopes and desires. My arms ache from the constant reaching and stretching. I hold on until they're about to fall off and when I finally rest, it's so comfortable I would rather just stay there and never make another move.

Once in a while, something comes up and I feel useful again. Life has some little meaning for me, reserved in a quiet place (and sometimes in a more boisterous one). I appreciate those moments. It's sad I can't predict them.

At the end of the day, maybe all I need is a long, tight, warm embrace.