It’s a quiet word, quite at home in a whisper.
It’s sweet, like caramel, but a little burnt and bitter around the edges. It’s comforting as long as it isn’t terrifying.
I crave it, sometimes, to wander in cool greens and breathe a damp blue air, circling in a happy haze. Air can find the bottom of my asthmatic lungs when I’m lost and wandering with no real place to be or go.
I get scared, sometimes, hopping on harsh reds and feeling the prickly hotness flashing states of consciousness when I cannot find where I need to be.
It’s tug-of-war between wanting control and letting go, of relaxing, of living in a little mystery and softness. I lean towards an firm grip and rigid outlines but I’m happier in a little haze. Learning to be a little lost, a goal and a hope.