Does it need to make sense?

It’s 2:02 AM on a Wednesday. You know when you have so much to say, but the words aren’t enough? There is no equivalent word to describe this immensurable feeling of longing. Yet I can’t move (not literally, calmate). It’s this feeling of having to do more, to create more, or even to just sit under the sun and force myself to feel every square centimeter of the warmth being one with the surface area of my skin. Do you realize that everything we touch takes a piece of us? Your prints, your energy, your voice just evaporating into the air and becoming one with the oxygen. How then do we become so disconnected? How do we continue to live without fascination? I am absolutely dumbfounded at living these days. Almost like I have just landed from an ulterior planet and am learning how to be a person. Which seems so absolutely ridiculous because I am at the ripe age of twenty-seven, and I should know how to be a person at this age. At least, half a person. This makes me realize though how I spent so many years dormant. How pain and concern were the main tenants in my body. How living meant nothing to me, but felt more like a death sentencing. Because of this though, of that time where I was “sleeping,” today I know the difference. Something clicked. After years of chasing the solutions, the success, the soul sucking version of the being that was not me, funny enough the only solution to this was to heal. To sit in the middle of the empty room that currently is my life and let it flow out of me. And a lot of that flow lives in these words, in these posts that mean nothing to anyone but everything to me. Whether or not anyone has ever heard me, whether or not anyone will ever read this and understand me, this is me giving space to be. To be means to occur, to take place. I am taking my place, and no it doesn’t need to make any sense right now.