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 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.