Swimming

 I thought it would be fun to post my writing somewhere else, so I'm just going to start with something I wrote a while ago to get things going 

When I was little I loved to walk by the curb to the bus stop,

stepping on all the ice that had frozen on the sides of the road and hearing it crunch

Then there were even a couple times I missed it, so focused on the ice, feeling it crunch and crack under the weight of my little body, thinking about things, that when I glanced up-

The bus was driving off, I was still halfway down my street, standing in the morning light, 

thanking it for the day, ice below my feet, sky above, my dreaming in between

How is it that I hadn't even heard it driving up? I'd thought

But that's how I've always been, caught in a moment, swimming in time like it didn't exist,

to the point that things in my peripheral don't register

My dad used to be so worried about my trajectory, 

that I didn't seem to plan a day ahead or have motivation for tomorrow let alone 2 weeks from now or a year

But every morning when I wake up, I feel the motivation of that second, that day, the light I need to absorb, the sounds I need to hear, the ice I want to feel below my feet

I can't say there haven't been times it came back to bite me,

but everything is always moving. And I've always felt this anxious need to pause;

to let the wave run over me when I sit on the beach

to sit in the grass and close my eyes

to lay in bed and let sunlight seep in

to squeeze you while you hold me, closing my eyes tight, 

pretending love, and everything else, lasts forever