It’s so imperfect the infinite.

From fixation to clarity. If our determination and thoughts have difference frequencies, this might be it. While our minds attempt to make sense of the subject and sooth ourselves, tears splash passionately, powerlessly. The salt flakes are the crystals of our struggles, worthy jewels to our epiphanies. They are proof to the unseen waves of emotions and decisions made through closed eyes, deep breaths, gritted teeth. Witness be the breeze, the midnight moon, the alarmed fox. The air is still, but the person will emerge anew once the last tears have fallen.

dichotomies make me feel uncomfortable. I want to let go of the need to define myself, to choose between one thing and another, to find a meaning in life. Maybe the meaning is simply to exist, fluidly