I thought today of how my perception of fact is limited to what I understand.
I think of how in consults, the facts I deliver are hyper-filtered; I cut away what cannot be understood, so that some semblance of fact can be remembered. I wonder if people do that to me – if that means I actually understand less than I do.
Do lungs ever cease to be lungs? I suppose they do when they do not draw breath. But, then again, lungs on the table are still lungs, if only because they look like lungs.
There is a rumbling beneath my feet and my toes – poor anchors – press against the floor, willing stillness into my being.
And my heart aches, just a little, because the small scratches have all begun to bleed.
I love permanence and I hate it. Tell me where I should be in five years and I will go there now, so I may live there before my time and stay past my time. I am repulsed by yesterday, eager to get away from today.
But, also, so eager for time to stand still, so I may sit guiltless in the quiet.