Remnants

what are we placing our happiness on?

we place it on stools that lift us higher and heels that make us taller.
deposit our insecurities in things that may return to us more than the fumbling identity we lunge at with open hands. It works.

It works because we can feel the return. We can throw our hands in the air and let pieces of what we're striving for move through our fingers. It's like the boy who runs around the shore and relishes in finally feeling an ocean mist brush his face; how different from the dry air that sucks his breath away.

As if you got up too fast, the world begins to shake, you're losing your balance and you begin to search and feel for the ground under you. It must be your stool.

Don't blame the stool, stand up.

Stand up, but don't blame your heels. You're still standing on them, and they didn't break. Sit back down, the stool is still holding up your body frame. You feel the world go up again, leaving you in your ditch again, forgotten. The floor beneath you is sinking and tommorow you think you'll invest in a higher, stable slab of ground.

All for the ocean mist to speak to our lonely pale cheeks. All for the remants of what we've been offered.

So before tommorow begins, I tell you:

The ocean is yours.
Tommorow you may stand on the ocean floor with your head above the waters.