Certainty is Killing Me and I am a Prisoner of Time, but Faintly I see the Horizon

For generations past, I have lived as a bookkeeper. The pages I tend to are not made of paper, but of hours. Every minute is sorted, every day is written. I add, I subtract, I reconcile what never feels whole. It is all so heavy and still, so empty. There is no surprise, no wonder. So meaningless that my desires become the only debts I can not settle. And slowly, I begin to carry a hunger, a longing, for more. 

And so I dream. In the quiet between lines, I dream. I dream of water, of wind, and, most of all, of motion. 

I dream of another me.

In another life, I am a sailor. I have a blue boat, with space for only one. I travel through calm waters, I belong nowhere, I am bound to nothing. I have no fears, no worries, no demands. I have become one with the sea. I am given to the wind and the wind alone. There is no direction when every path becomes one. I float, float, and float. I drift, far beyond weight. I am lost, and in being lost, I endure. I outlast time by ceasing to resist it. 

I don't quite recognize this version of myself, but I know it is true. I can feel its existence. I feel it in the tide, in the sky, in the silence. For that, I need no certainty. 

Autoria: Nina Neves

Revisão: Ana Clara Jabur

Foto da Capa: Pinterest