we want a life that means something, that has purpose, but that will not take over the steering wheel we pretend to hold onto. just as we want direction but with enough room to get lost. to be told what we should do but given enough room to pretend that it is our decision. we want left but also right, to love our lord but for it to be our own decisions. we want to be in charge but have our decisions arrive for us.

our news comes in heavy each morning, stories of natural disasters competing with unstable governments and mounting wars. our coffee arrives on the table to give us the bitter jolt to venture into a world little of our making but suitable for us. we then spend time with others and at jobs we associate enough with to keep arriving even if we are always looking over our shoulders for something closer to our own. yearning for the other side, the other person, the other life. nostalgia calling us back even when we dont believe in it.

the battle between sobriety and total lack of control is real. the drink taking the drink is where we wander over to when i take the guardrails off. these sigs point to something a bit off, like a shoe with a rock in it. each situation carrying a slight awkwardness. every plant I have at home is lacking the colors and life I was promised when I took it home. a slow trickle of constant disappointment seemingly pointed at me but perhaps instead pointed outward from me. questioning whether I am not caring for the plants and the world around me plague me slightly.