Droplets of Seawater

Can I just say that in the past week plus I’ve sat down at least half a dozen times to write this blog post. And with those times, some of them I didn’t even bother sitting; more like stolen running moments at work…much like the first half, and well the second of this post some on paper, some on computer, stuffed inside my purse, and inside my mind. I haven’t been taking enough time to sit and be creative; in part because I don’t have the time. But when I do have the time there is always a fear of not having enough of it. Have you ever had that feeling of knowing you don’t have enough time so you just end up doing nothing? Fear, I suppose that’s what it is.

I’ve discovered not so recently that for some reason I love writing unfinished things; yes that makes sense in my mind. I find that they are finished in its unfinishedness (most definitely a word). There’s something wonderful about filling in the gaps of words that aren’t there; or ones that just aren’t seen. I wonder how much sense I’m actually making to you or how much I just sound like a mad woman typing when it should be her bedtime. I shall give you my piece and be off.

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Her mind was like the ocean,
Not the whole ocean,
just a drop or two,
knowing where it was and where it felt the safest,
she could go away anywhere,
but then she’d lose the masses,
and have nowhere to hide,
it felt bigger at times going deep within her own wonders,
to the places the others were too afraid to look,
But it wasn’t in the puddles or the buckets full of sea water,
in which she ever found herself,
it was beneath the surface that she found,
her mind was oh so much bigger than it ever seemed,
and those few drops were all she needed.
t.r.p.

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