Sometimes I wonder if I am the product of my fears. The fabrication of everything I pushed away because it hurt too much. I think about the great love I still believe in. I wonder if every step I take is just a dance around it, just an excuse for not facing it. For not dropping my bags and marching up to the doorstep and demanding to be let in. I've created reasons and diversions, distractions and doubts. I have planted a forest to wander where everything is just a half of something greater. Where satisfaction escapes me.
But isn't it all for the same reason? Isn't there always that lingering desire for the epic love of biblical proportions that has yet to be written? Or perhaps I am just the product of Disney movies and rejection. No one will ever be good enough until I believe I am, this I tell myself, this I tell men. And for all of the times I tried to convince myself this was the single most prominent problem, I was lying. Somewhere inside my complex world I know this isn't so. Somewhere inside I know that I just haven't met you yet. And that if this life insists I be so fortunate, I will not have to convince myself of a thing.
For now I am happy with the road, with adventure, with life. So content with freedom , a thing that is never possessed and barely holding on, feeling threatened at every turn. But isn't it great like that, so beautiful, untamed and wild as the stormy, midnight ocean.
My life is a series of moments. Big screen moments. Sometimes my jaw drops as I watch them unfold. 'Am I living this? Right now, is this me, here, in some beautiful scene?' . Yes. Just shut up and live it, Kali.
I am lucky. This I know. I can't accept it completely, I can't believe it all the way. What did I do to deserve this? Is this life just a credit card to be paid in the next? Or have I earned this? And when you get everything you desire, everything you want, you realize how truly impossible it is to know what you truly want. Because it isn't money and it isn't fame, it is something much deeper, something so big yet so small.
So - is it love? Is that what I am always dancing around? Is that what I am waiting for? Do I stand on the edge of my Forest of Halves, gazing across a field with a distant horizon painted the deepest shade of passion? And do I call for you on the wind, invite you in? Do you want to help me create this world, anyway we'd like? Or do I leave it behind? Must I venture from my sea? And if it isn't love, then what is it?
Maybe finding It, whatever It is, is It.
The journey to getting There, wherever There is.
