garden

we close our eyes, sometimes, so we can walk through life. our only means to make it through the dangerous alleys we prefer not to know, remember. we beg for blindness. for ignorance.

i open my eyes to find i'm in a completely different place. greener, greater, lusher, but foreign, still. sometimes it's hard to take in beauty when it's so fresh, so new, so foreign.

lately, the skies are so grey. so still. so eerie. like nothing matters to anyone, anywhere, anymore. like we're all just waiting. i think we get used to waiting for catastrophe. we are so afraid of saying everything's great, as though it were a bad omen, with repercussions looming around some blind corner.

i wear my sunglasses, and walk quietly through the grand hall of the post office. i feel almost invisible. i feel almost numb. surrounded by so much sterilization. like we're all already dead. like we're already here.

and then i step through the doors, trying to find my way out. then i step through the doors, and it's you i think of. it's you.

sometimes it's hard to take it all in. so we find refuge in the disasters. where we're safely tainted. safely disconnected. safely away. i've spent so much time there. ruminating. hiding. studying stones. giving up.

you pull me out. you've pulled me out. and everything is so lush.

sometimes you open your eyes and you... you find your place. your home. and it may not be what you were looking for, or idealizing, or expecting. but it's yours. and it's your home. and it's everything you want once you have it. it's beautiful. it's the life you always wanted, but never knew.