I wish time worked like a turntable. That it spun slowly along the grooves of a vinyl record, produced music to meditate to or to dance to or to write to, that eventually you could stop it, could prolong a moment and replay it again and again. Instead, time rolls as a wheel does, it only goes one way and cannot turn around on its own.
Today, I feel as though I am peeking behind a veil, a curtained window, into the rest of the world. Everyone can relate to everyone and know everyone but my friends and I don't talk about what is inside of us, and I am beginning to feel like no one really thinks about me when I am not around. I'm lucky to have such a strong relationship with myself.
I am suffering from a faulty connection. The wires that bind us together are strong, electric, but the one that connects to me is fraying slightly. I can still hear them but I wonder abruptly if anyone hears me. I might be too mature. Too stuck inside my body to get outside of it, really, to read a friend's suggestion and agree, even if it sounds like a bad idea. I want to have fun but fun to me is different than everyone else's. I want to walk in the woods and look at nature and feel a part of something other than myself.
My room is clean but no one can come over, my mind is clean but no one wants to see it. I am not lonely, here, alone. I am happiest in my solitude but it would be wonderful to not feel so frustrated with others all the time.