Anywhere, just to be.

Exhaustion has set in. I feel as though it's a Monday tradition.
I really do love to pack up and go, I'm learning. I love the feeling of being somewhere new. I've realized that I don't get stressed when I'm lost (which I'm also realizing doesn't happen often when I'm trying to get somewhere new) or when I'm somewhere I've never been before.
I'm quick to pick up on directions and to orient myself within a space.
I enjoy new places and changes of pace. I find it exhilarating and calming.
I am my own person and I am in my own space. I have no future and no past, only present. Only conversation and today.
I would like to explore that feeling more.

This is, of course, the complete opposite of the segment of my personality that cannot handle change. I think that it's only the future and permanent change that throws me. Perhaps I'm not as much of a homebody as I had once thought. As long as it's not something I'll have to do often, I'm fine. I like being transient and anonymous, unnoticed.
The first day of school still terrifies me, as does getting a job. But that's what's in store for me. The settling, to a certain degree.
But passing through seems just fine to me.


I'll go anywhere, just to be.
I've been through you
Worked and worked so hard to maintain,
create a life,
build one,
then to run away.
Nothing left behind,
a whisper, maybe,
but certainly no other trail in my wake.
Time, the imprint of what once was
Remains.
Sustained solely by thoughts and feelings.
Those fade too, replaced
by thoughts and feelings.
Emotions that beget emotions
that upset, then force regret,
then, finally, if only to forget.
It's the forgotten ones you've got to be careful of.
Mind them, just like the gap,
until you're just as lost and
nothing's left.
Are you safer than you were before?
Running from the sea
to the middle of the nowhere,
the dead center of that
folded, crumpled map.
Not even sand, the sand that made the shore
left in the indents at the bottom of your shoes.
Gone like those little grains
that held and clung,
transported as if my magic
somewhere else.
New home, to them, is where you left them be.
Days pass.
Shattered glass picked up to go a thousand different ways.
Sweep, sweep, swept.

I'll slip through time 

in the past tense. 

You're lost, I'm gone and nothing's left.
Again, again, repeat, regress.



Forgive me for that ill-fated attempt. I've not written poetry in awhile, but it slipped out and I let it go.