I use to do this a lot. But I’d have a sweater on. And don’t have any tattoos or long strands of hair either. Anyways, there’s this bench right on a hill that overlooks my home city. It may not have been as fancy as this photo, but it was something. At first I’d come to this spot for pleasurable reasons. Then when I needed solitude or time to think I’d drive up the hill and take in the polluted air. The heat and smell rising from the industrial buildings below the hill should’ve made me sick, but it just made me feel better. Eventually I
grew up moved. And everything just stopped.
I guess I realized that sitting meant thinking, that thinking meant doubting, and doubting meant trouble. So I kept myself busy and indulged myself in work. Soon I started surrounding myself with similar people and it was full speed ahead. Now every time I try to slow down I feel as if I’m going to lose time but also part of myself. And as I sit here writing this I’m thinking, “dammit, I could be doing this.” I’m told I waste a lot of time and procrastinate, but that’s all done on purpose because I don’t think I have time for me.
I’m missing something and I can’t tell if it’s a spot to sit down and think. Or maybe it’s my lack of faith. I like to think that it’s mostly just me, or whatever’s lacking in me.