wet days

Flames: how they dance! What are you thinking, feeling, tasting? I wonder if I should have ever tried to learn knitting: to learn seems very heavy, but I might love it if I could learn it without investing time in it. For an hour when it's raining outside, I would like to knit absent-mindedly, thinking of things and thinking of songs and thinking of the night moon and thinking of what all am I and thinking of how there are yet thousands of steps to be taken and thinking of how I would love to take each step even if difficult or even if easy but all for me for that is life, and thinking of times that slide into each other when nothing happens but those other times when things seem to happen, and yet I wonder isn't something happening always?

They say let go. They say hold on. Crazy. I don't know why people are so full of advises. Let me live, let me love. I am not anyone else, I am myself. I love because I love, and I live because I love. Why do they want meaning to my life, to my every word, to my acts, to anything? No success matters, no failure matters; there is the myself that is precious. Yes I love; and that is sacred. Not preserved, mummified sacred. But my day-to-day life, my every morning, my wonder, my breathless excitement. My every achievement and every failure - each something, not because of how they see me, of how they talk of me - but simply because each an expression, a discovery, a knowledge. Of me, of you, of life.