poets and payouts

I hope that if one day I die, my family will auction off my works to friends. So that they may have a piece of the deepest parts of me. Parts of me that the passage of time may leave behind. Even in death I hope to be immortal in the eyes of those I loved.

groceries and quicksand

I feel like i’ve been numbing myself over and over again, waiting for some drastic event to change the trajectory of my life; but i’m the one who seems to remain unwavering and stagnant. I fall short of what I should be striving for. In remembrance and remorse I see the dead parts of me that wish to live in the present. In contrast, there are those that have an iron grip on my soul and yet has never met it. Like a broken compass I don’t know which to aim for, the known friends of the past or the unknown strangers of the future? The regret of lost love and the newfound life are on both sides of the scale that I can’t seem to balance. So yet I stay rooted in my inaction, for fear of uncertainty taints my hearts. When you’re stuck in quicksand, I suppose staying still is the only way to slow the sinking.