The void of this writing space in my life has been unsettling to my heart. I find myself these days on a merry-go round of my myriad of musts. Cyclical, the wind slams into my tight lipped face as I hold tighter to the rusty rails just waiting for warp speed to downshift. But, there's that overachiever girl with her feet planted firmly on the dirt playground spinning me faster and faster. As if in unison, her hands propel a force that reeks velocity confirmation on my face of survival. Then, there's the other gal. She melodiously watches with a grandeur kind of anticipation. Her energies funnel into nothing but acute concentration on this round-n-round routine. She labors to catch the rhythm of the merry. She looks at me secured there on the rusty turntable with some sort of admiration. Her eyes cast darted glances of jealousy as I am on and she is not. Brittle dirt flies into the air around us as spinner girl takes dedicated delight in increasing the rapidity of this roundabout. Faster. Faster. Faster. I hold on with all my might. I opt to overlook the churning of an upside down stomach wanting nothing more than to be obscene & ugly all over the place. Spinner girl cackles with her obsession for speed; she is mesmerized by her mission. The on-deck girl has a full tank of 'I want to' just waiting for that precise time to leap and board.
{the rhythm of the merry}
I am that girl.
All 3 to be exact.
.mac
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