Like a rolling stone

It cycles again:
we fall out, and we fall in,
but mostly out...
like right now.

What is that about?

I do not bode well:
the plummets and swells.
Like the fickle and elusive moon
whose face changes like our moods.

Is now too soon?

Perhaps this is the last:
no appetite for this present and past.
There is not enough to keep me
running in circles indefinitely.

Without a whisper, I walk free.

The sun, ever so elusive in the winter, is shining through my little window. I am glad I chose a room that faces the water. I can see into the apartments across from me and I wonder what the people inside, sitting at their desks, writing on their computers, are thinking. Are they thinking of me, like I am of them?

Things like this happen all the time; the world is full of strangers who, for one moment in time, find that they might have a connection. Soon, that connection becomes fragile, and without moments to keep them in sync, they fall out of...

There should be no despair. It should be allowed to happen in natural time. It is only when we fight against nature to grasp onto things that no longer exist do we feel the unforgiving and unsatisfying tinge of regret and sorrow. But we are foolish people. Things are never as special as we imagined them to be--life goes on.

I am happy now. Maybe happy isn't the right word--I want nothing for the time being. How quickly will this feeling pass? I suppose the more I examine it, the less I stay this way.

I move on. Like a rolling stone--gathering things from the path: a collection of memories, people, feelings, and reactions. What will become of me when I reach that final end? A massive conglomeration of foreign oddities stuck onto, into me--where am I lost in that mess? Do I become the mess?