We were always inside of the world, outside of time. Inside of breath, outside of fear, of freedom, of depth. We were always floating along the sidewalk swept silver string of soothing sound. We were always and always something that was made out of a thousand nevers. This moment I am here I am trying to capture it. I am trying to tie it down to a series of adjectives and nouns that are always just a little bit more and a little bit less than the truth of what it actually is. This moment in time is taken up by the aching feeling from my muscles pulling away from one another with too much exhaustion. This moment is trust and fearlessness and bliss. This moment is silky black coffee and slimy hot oats. This moment is musical mornings from the window in Paddington and small white feelings of faith growing deeply within the bulk of my chest. This is my breath and this is my life and this is where I have come to bundle up my strife. I am here and I am thankful. I am here and I am anxious and exhausted. I am here and I am loving and impatient. I am here and I am growing, gasping and guttering for new life. For new life. For new life.
Somethings are still in the making it seems. It seems I cling and I cling with all my might to this great anxious bliss on the horizon that seems so near I can hold it in my fluttering fingertips…and yet. Is so violently far that even to speak its name sends shivers down the length of my silver spine. I am lost in the middle land. The place with no name but every intention. I am not in Australia. I want to see the land…stretching under my feet like strips of silent razors ready to splice the sky in two. I want to want to want to say I am what I am what I am.