Mind birdIt seems that the greater my desire to write, the harder it feels. The ongoing presence of my illness makes my mind is so full but so flighty.

“flighty”

A state where I can’t ever stay but can never fully go.

My mind doesn’t soar . It doesn’t open to stretch and show its span. It doesn’t sweep across the wide, wild skies of imagination, or glide over the deep sea of things and people and adventure and fun.

It flutters, one wing tattered, worn away by brush after brush after brush. It flitters unsettled, unspoken. Too weary for words, too driven to rest, and too desperate to stop.

I long for the peace that will let me just slow. Let me focus on a wave, not the sea; the sun, not the skies. I long for the thready pulse of wings to either

soar

or

stop.

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