I wish I lived where I live.

I wish I noticed the colour of flowers and the beauty in the veins of the leaves. I hope one day I truly smell the salt of sea and feel love for the breeze on my face.

I don’t.

I don’t live where I live.

I live in the past and the future.
I live in perspective.

I think about what things mean and ignore what they are.

I live in systems not in relationships.

I think about the big at the cost of small.

I live where a calm misery lives. Look back and you see regret. Walk forward and you touch fear. True joy resides in the present, where I cannot.

Highs and lows flow like salmon in a stream, lightly brushing against me and gone in an instant. Even death and love get contextualised, neither leaving a scar nor a blessing.

Any joy I feel is that of a fan watching a game, not a player playing it. The joy is not my own.

I don’t live where I live, and sometimes that makes me feel like I don’t live at all.

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