But I do.
Rock, [Paper,] Heart
I’m stuck between a rock and a heart.
And sadly, deep down I know…
I’d rather choose rock.
Just Me
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this feeling deep inside that I am special. A feeling that I will be someone. A feeling that I will make something of myself.
I am destined for something.
But, I’m just me. Just Krishna….
So I want to know why.
Hurt
I’m selfless. I put others before me. People may think that’s bragging, but it’s not.
Especially when I let myself get hurt because of it.
Listen
When comfortable, I tend to run my mouth and talk about myself…a characteristic that I even don’t find appealing.
I’d always been trying to slowly train myself to listen more to those around me, but training requires concentration and practice. Tedious.
When I stopped and thought about it, I realized that I actually like listening to people. So many interesting stories and opinions to be heard, to be bathed in, to be absorbed.
Why train myself to do something I like? Just let go and listen freely. Easy. Relaxing. Good.
It’s amazing how much I’ve learned since then. People just want to be heard, and now I am here.
Yu Takami
—I am Lady
What I listen to. Every time I write.
Krishna
I am a lot.
Stages
I am scared for myself. If I’m being honest, I’m definitely scared. I’m scared of if I don’t like where life takes me.
Everything I’ve attempted and stuck with for some time, I’ve grown to dislike in some shape or form. I look back and realize that I haven’t actually truly timelessly liked something. Tennis? No. Soccer? No. Piano? No. Violin? No. Being a soccer referee? No. Working in a cafe? Heck no. Flute? We’ll see - another post for a later time. (Theater? Yes - but it’s complicated.)
Looking at things, I shouldn’t deny the fact that I did like them once upon a time. It’s just that I’ve moved on from those stages, and they no longer hold the appeal they once did.
What I’m scared about…is if this pattern will continue. Will I ever find something to put myself towards that I will truthfully enjoy for the rest of my life?
Maybe I’m just someone who likes change—a lot of change. But, I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m running out of time.
One
I sat myself down on the rough, steep driveway, legs out in front. The coolness of the concrete, seeping though my jeans and soothing my legs and backside. As I fiddled with the metal of the rubber car keys, I looked up.
I saw the moon and it’s craters, a reflection of the all-seeing sun. It lit up the night sky. A gradient through space, from light to dark. I mistook the stars for fireflies, twinkling as only fireflies know so well. Playing with each other. I saw beauty.
I heard the sounds of crickets, cicadas, and insects all existing together in the night. I heard a distant train to the left…east. I heard a car door close. I heard the silence of sleep that only comes once a day. I heard life.
I could smell freshly cut grass. Bagged at the end of the driveway. Work from the day. I smelled time gone by.
I felt the thin, crisp night air cleansing my lungs and thoughts. I felt insignificance. I felt pure.
I had not a care or worry in the world. Serenity. I was in tune.
One perfect moment.
I placed my hands as leverage behind my back. The roughness of the concrete cut into my hands. The sudden jarring uncomfortableness in my world whisked all wholeness away. I lost focus. Reality returned, and completeness left me.
It was short, I will not forget. For that one moment, I had perfection.
