Shadow of a window

A beginning when moving forward only 
in shattered fragments of
various characters
of various timings & cycles, patterns
when time itself barely exists 
& how do we conduct ourselves now?

There’s a journey ahead, a journey
I’ve been on since only I can remember
but there’s tenderness & a crackle,
thinking throughout the day
pondering on the weight of time
all around you but unable to grasp,
just things, just things…

It is a road
there are clouds &
solid ground
& it requires transition, see
to touch
more than just things.

Perhaps I can just be myself
finally___
not having to tune someone’s drivel out
if I accept them, because I know 
it’s worth something more than a thing.

Having. But not possessing.