I wondered how a being could function knowing it will die, but then I realized …

Don’t call me, “Beautiful.”

Went down to the river to get some sand in my hair,
Put my toes in the Arkansas and thought about who I am.
I watched the ripples come to shore, listened to the splishing fish splashing and envied their niches.
I laid in the sand, played in the sand; the last strokes of auto-pilot drawing resulted in a figure in the shape of a bull skull.
Strong, enduring… self? I’m not the kind of person who’s okay with ambiguity of self.
I laid in the sand and watched the world from bug’s-eye view.
Grass blades on the horizon make trees for the tiny inhabitants of this riverbank.
I see just how tiny my perspective of this universe is when I try viewing it from one even smaller.
All these insects and spiders roam the sand, but not a single pholcid crosses my path.
I’m a speck in a wonderful, infinite universe that doesn’t even matter to the speckier of specks on this speck of a fresh water beach.
I watch a butterfly land on a flower, but she doesn’t watch me. She’s already in the second half of her life, and where am I?
I’m twenty years old, covered in sand, does this even count as sand?, and wondering who I am. Where is my self?
Funny how feeling minuscule can make all the difference. Caterpillars still have time to learn.
Two pholcidae brush my leg with their spindly twig-legs and startle me out of my meditation.

Self-sorting

I think I might have come to the conclusion maybe that I need to know what it’s like to be lonely for an extended period of time. But it’s hard to actually try for that sort of thing….

Reblog if you don’t have girlfriend or boyfriend.

(Source: wescalou, via jsummitt)