Sitting, Thinking, and Feeling

It’s 7:24 p.m. on the East Coast. Saturday night. Cold and breezy in D.C.

My head is full of nothing and everything.

My heart is more familiar with that everything part. It’s doing most of the holding these days. Nothing isn’t something it would know. It’s never been about nothing.

I do wonder about how I’d sleep and dream and eat and be about life if this heart were more acquainted with nothing. If it didn’t hold so much, contemplate so much and expand so easily.

The women in my family aren’t necessarily soft or delicate things. You don’t get their fleshy parts right away.

I’m really no different. But my fleshy parts desire to be gotten to right away.

Even when I ponder the idea of existing in numbness because sometimes feeling is too much feeling.

But numbness has its own kind of feeling and it isn’t as empty as it parades itself to be.