Fine Lines

Observation: Only man too preoccupied with the trivial aspects of life are too blind to see that our world is made up of much more than just stone and wood. We live in invisible lines that cross and twist through our homes, our streets, our bodies. They are constant and flowing with energy- it doesn't matter whether you're a murderer or teacher, every single conscious person has them. And they can be very sensitive to the actions and choices that a person makes.

Each line forms off my person and links to the general areas of my life. I am a pillar with boundless energy feeding these precious lines. Recent events have caused turbulence in this constant state of flow, weakening the core and thus weakening the lines to frailty. Some now temporarily lay in shambles within the dull areas crowded with cobwebs in my mind. I witness the fall but am ongoing; snow blind. I see through grain, eyes heavy and gray. I imagine myself walking through a murky plain with lines all around. Some glow brightly like fireflies while others are at the end of their wick. Some already fallen to dust. At this point in my life I worry most that the events which affect me affect the familiar line of love I currently search for. I am an often visitor only because I wish to see if it is still strong. When I find it I reach out to touch it's warmth. Still connected and flowing but I tell myself that the line is damaged. I tell myself all the time that there is a piece in the line that is missing. It isn't enough to see the line surviving on it's own. Outside my head I try to find ways of fixing what isn't broken. And when I can't make repairs I slide back into grief and confusion once again. I need something to prove that it's the same. Actions unfortunately speak louder than words.