awake
I'm sick of waking up feeling unsettled with a frown.
I feel old. Older than twenty one (and a bit) years old. Older than young adulthood and bills and debt. Older than the harsh realization of death and the fear of my parents dying. Older than the bittersweet knowledge that in due time, all we know, and all we love, could change and leave as quickly as they came. Older than the marrow in my bones.
Things (and people) are settling in their proper places like dead cells that find new life as dust that find home in the crooks of corners. Like mushroom spores that land in the grooves of old decaying logs that take inevitably take root and blossom like earthy sponges.
And I realize, that I, just like the dust and the spores have my own place and part to play. Though the dust and spores may have strayed from the path, felt the lull of the woods and stepped off the cobblestones - they inevitably settle. I can vividly see their trails like the afterglow of sparklers in humid summer nights.
I know my place, more surely than I know my name. If I were a dog, I'd be sitting off to the side, watching loyally and wagging my tail.