Twister Weather

No, not literally. It's my internal weather that's been spinning me around, wringing my life out, blowing it back in. Atmospheric conditions of circumstance. In the end, I feel like no more than a will o' wisp, flickering faintly in the dark. That sounds sort of romantic, until you realize that a will o' wisp is bioluminescence produced by decay. 

I long for a cool blue morning, the sort that spreads out around you like a map, in which you could go anywhere, do anything, and maybe you won't, but you could and that's the point. I miss having some other horizon to look toward. 

The world changes so fast. I want to shout at it to stop for a moment, I'm not finished with the way it was. I'm not ready to fade out. But I'm only a faint flicker, and the world doesn't listen. 

Maybe tomorrow I will go out to some hilltop and try to read my future in the ever-expanding pattern of streets. Perhaps I will look at the sky and see my fortune in the clouds. Perhaps I will gather some strands of a spiderweb and start weaving another sort of life. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Note: Another name for will o' wisp is foolish fire. In case there was any question. 

When Flying Was Easy

Looking back, it seems like time was a place then, existing in space between the known and unknown. The distance between boundaries the same as the time it took for the new to become ordinary.

The sunlight that blazed down on the unfamiliar road is now lost to me, the sun and the road both. The sun and the road still exist, but the space they once occupied is gone.