Very little on this earth operates on 'our terms' and words are no exception to that. They cannot be coaxed; the simplest attempt at doing so is deemed an insult. Yet in order to acquire the validation my brain is so desperately seeking, I must confront them.
I realise that I do a significant amount of confronting. In my painfully unappealing desire to maintain honesty, I refuse to be broken by confrontation. And yet I find myself wondering what all this confrontation has done for me. No otherworldly truth has been revealed to me; honesty has become a distant, unattainable phenomenon that appears to have never existed on this earth and my perception of this world has tilted, ever so slightly, towards the unrelatable.
I clean and clean and yet never quite understand what I am trying so desperately to shine. Is it me? The age-long metaphor suggests so, I guess. And yet after so much scrubbing, I don't feel 'clean' and neither do I feel tainted. So, we return. What am I trying so hard to clean? Perhaps I'm not trying to clean at all. Maybe I'm trying to 'maintain', instead. Hanging onto all that's familiar because change is so disastrously difficult to manage. And yet so much has changed over the past year. Life has been tugged at and moulded into all kinds of shapes to fit all the different dimensions that are necessary now. The question remains, however - if something is full, does it mean it fits? How can one ever really know what 'fits' and what doesn't? Surely we don't have the stamina or the time for trial and error in that department. Or perhaps some of us do. And the ones that don't, well, they settle.
