Detached and drifting

March 26, 2019

Sometimes it feels like I could just float away.

That distant.

Not truly anchored by gravity, as if suddenly I’ll begin to drift away seated in the bus as I am,

Into the part of the sky where the sunset meets the night.
(Where there’s that unknown colour.)

And not that my loved ones wouldn’t ever care or search,
But there is nothing that could be done.

There’s just too much distance

And I can’t go to my people,

And they’ll never find me.

Only God will know where I am.

Like an otter that forgot to entangle itself in seaweed,

Adrift and alone.

Floating anywhere,

That it wouldn’t even stop at our atmosphere,

And I’d be lost to space and not bother fighting it because I know it’s pointless.

You can’t swim in space.

So detached that I’ll just be taken away against my will to float above our sky to outer space,

Pointless,

Unable to direct myself anywhere, never coming back home.

And that I’ll just be lost to nowhere forever.

Not like a feather,

Lighter;

Nor like a balloon, 

Less joyful,

Though just as empty.