always

Always without a definite answer. Always wondering whether the thin strip covering my eyes is black or white. so near to my vision and yet so abstract in contemplation.

At times i wish i had that one focus. the one thing that drove me and helped me move on or move back; whichever was applicable. the need for compulsion and the state of anxiety. never alone and never clear in its form. never the one thing that makes sense and the one sense that makes sense of things that make sense. existing as a tangible yes or no. creating spaces in all direction and leaving for imagination and self-indulgence to fill the gaps.

As i write my mind races between the knowns and the unknowns. the one path which illuminates itself with the knowledge that makes it easy for us to follow it and perhaps fail. the other which does not know its own direction let alone making its path visible to us.

So i stand here with my, slightly wet, hair shifting freely beneath the might of the weak wind. i notice the dust on my boots, just around the tips. mixed with the wet from the grass. a few leaves dangle from one of my laces. slowly i bend down to remove it. it feels like an old piece of paper out of a magazine. i separate it and try and throw it a few feet away from where i stand. as i brush my hands on my jeans i notice the path. i can hardly see the gravel because of the bed of autumn leaves. i smile at myself and order my feet to move...