I used to think myself the wind when I was younger– at least, I wanted to be the wind. I imagined it wild, free, so endlessly attractive and fleeting– all qualities that I desperately wanted to be.
Now, as a trash, self-indulgent 20-something year old: I think of my scary depths, wildly deviant swing states of peace and reckless emotion, and my frustration at how I need extrinsic structure and discipline to make anything of myself. It’s all much more viscous water than wind.
I keep (literally) dreaming of lakes and large bodies of water. I don’t know where it’s all coming from, but I see myself staring upwards at infinite space and sheets of stars in the sky, floating belly-up in some cool, dark Ontario lake, maybe naked.
(okay, yes totally naked, fine okay— it’s because I’m a very touchy-feely person and I want those good-time kinesthetic vibes all over my person).
My bod bobs up down up down up down ever so slightly, as faintly as the subtle breathing (the rising and falling) of your partner’s chest as they sleep beside you.
Oh, jeez. That was kind of a piece in itself. All I wanted to say is that water has been a weird (but nice) thematic motif in my life lately and I don’t want it to go away. It’s also very self-indulgent, but I’m very self-indulgent, so it’s fine! It’s okay! Indulge me!
water water water
The height of human arrogance is to see ourselves in the inhuman
To feel “the heat of passion”, to be “the salt of the earth”
How foolish are we to believe our small, poor human bodies
Compare in any way
To the magnitude of this earth
The vastness of the oceans
The force of the wind
Yet, here I am
Calling you my fire
Knowing myself your water
And that my depths, crests and swells
Doused and drowned you
Here I am, wishing I was your soil, land and trees
So I could keep your heat
Be your roots
Let you burn me to ashes so we could rebuild together
But you are not fire and I am not water
I am just a small, poor human body
Accepting that we are nothing more