I’m in the moment, longing to be the moment itself. I’m fully engaged in the Being-Me of being me, but being me is not enough. I want to be everything and every person I’m not.
Flawed, fragile, fearful—enough! I want to be right now.
Impossible, I remind myself.
After years of sorrow, I accept the truth of my flawed, fragile, fearful self. After years of mourning, I wake up in the midnight of my life, aware of everything and every person I’m not.
What I need, to let go (of) myself, is touch. I long to touch a body longing to be touched.
Still possible, I remind myself.