I used to come here when I was young
About a year-and-a-half ago
I had just quit my career and would sit on these rocks and listen to a podcast about depression
I felt like the broken glass next to the prickly desert cacti matched my demeanor
Now I’ve stumbled upon this little alcove and I remember what I was feeling back then
I was so lost and confused and angry
That hasn’t changed
But now I’m more comfortable with chaos and uncertainty
The seven seas don’t scare me as this boat continues to drift unmoored
Yet returning here, I feel older and I feel more disconnected
I feel more strongly than ever that I don’t understand anyone and that no one understands me
Putting the broken glass back together would be impossible
stories from a drifter 
Deserts are beautiful, aren’t they? Almost barren, almost dead, but still nurturing all kinds of life. The life that’s tough enough to hold on.
I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but your posts have gone a long way toward me knowing you, and frankly I’d like to know more. You write extraordinarily well. Your posts are a breath of fresh air in a world that I too am growing quite tired of. I’ll be watching for your next words. And I’ll appreciate them. And maybe I won’t understand you, maybe not completely, but I’ll try. Because maybe that’s all that any of us can really do for each other.
Peace, drifter.
LikeLike