awaiting my death on the edge of a fountain’s reach. watching the sky as the sun’s ray deplete, and the clouds come rolling from the east. i know this feeling, but here? here i thought i was free… here i thought i was excused from the grips.
i ran, i flew, swam, and drove, but yet i face you again here at life’s peak.
There is a strong analogy that can be made, for a spider’s web and depression.
Everyday you prepare this web, this craft you’ve picked up as second nature: it’s a part of you. Others might observe your web, call it a spectacle or even call it art. When in reality this web serves a purpose to you; it keeps you alive.
Like the spider’s, it’s fragile but terse too. However, at the start or end of each day, you’ll have to repair it, where it couldn’t quite hold, or start a new one completely.
I don’t think this should discourage you from putting up your web, whether it be painting, writing, singing, dancing, whatever, just as the spider doesn’t when it too starts a new web.
and in my dreams
it always seems
I’m losing teeth.