Ship of Thesaurus

My attention fades  like minutes passing by. I see something I like,  I see another thing I like. You text me amusing  details about your day. While my mind floats,  in its ocean of thoughts. There’s lots of work to do,  but I have to like this post too. Reels never seem to have an end,  while emails wait for me to hit send. I shuffle through apps,  on my phone and in my mind. Oh look, there’s a sparrow!  What if birds could bark? It’s a battle for my attention, reality versus imagination. Like a tug of war,  my mind is the center of it all. What shall I see next?  What shall I ignore? Often, it's the best of both:  I see everything, I ignore it all. My memory stores  only what I deem precious. Sometimes it's about family,  sometimes it's about me. Never about things that  distract me so easily.

Like a game of ping pong,  our lips throw out words, so casually, without the intention to listen to what the other has to say, I throw you five syllables, you respond with three. The dictionary in our minds, ever so busy scraping  for the correct response, lest we utter insults in fear of coming up short, with a better response, not to questions but as our answers. We talk like we understand each other, our bodies having a language of their own, arms and legs, speaking fluent dialects, yet we misunderstand way too often what the other has to say, a compliment turns into criticism and vice versa.  Neither of us is the winner, nor do we come to a draw, there’s no stalemate either, but we go our separate ways, unaware of the wounds, we’ve inflicted on each other and on ourselves. 

How often I find myself in dilemmas created by the genius of my mind. It leads me to situations not of my making, yet somehow I’m the problem even when I might be the solution. Alarms go off wherever I set foot, perhaps warning people in the vicinity of trouble’s arrival. How does one not tremble when fear creeps up like spiders seeking refuge in your ears?  What do you make of the judgemental eyes, not of people but of cats and crows? They sense something’s off about you, but are wise to not alert the nearest stranger. I’m not the same person I was yesterday or the day before, yet nothing feels changed, only worse. Time only tells what time it is, so how does one distinguish between bad and good timing? One moment, I am happy, the next, I am sad; there’s no fixed schedule for my emotions. They rarely wander away from my true feelings, but what if the only thing I ever feel is despair?