A lowly gerbil on a rat wheel. Chasing nothing and wanting everything. And what does that mean for her lowly existence? Tired from nothing and heartbroken by everything. She paints with words she says. What words? Where are they? In her head? In her imagination?
She’s just a daydreamer.
A lowly, sad, tired daydreamer.
And sometimes she daydreams about a place where her thoughts no longer hold her hostage.
And sometimes she thinks no such place exists in her existence.
And death seems a long way off.
And maybe that’s what she loves about nature. How it dies and lives. dies and lives. dies and lives. quickly, painlessly, gracefully. Maybe that’s why she’s always escaping.
To pass the time.
Her tears make it to the paper, and dry up there. Her pain is like a sculpture just making its way into something she can’t really recognize. Something she doesn’t truly understand.
Is it a thing of beauty? Is it a thing worth preserving? She wants her life to be a thing of beauty. But now she’s not sure how to make it so. So she floats like a leaf in the wind – without the freedom the wind brings. Instead it’s taking her on a ride that makes her question her very existence.
And resent its breath.
She’s always daydreaming. Always escaping. Sleepwalking. I guess that’s why she can’t rest. I guess she’s always resting. She’s multitasking.
She looks at her young and knows they are the same.
And it scares her.