Seriously, I expected a lot more from life. I had the mind of a child who dreamt with a super solid confidence about the future. The future. It is something which I believe has potential. That, potential, is what fascinated me from day one.

All that could be. That is potential. All that could be! Oh, the thrill. Never cared about the tension of all that should be, nor about the kinetic all that is. No, my arousal hits when that pendulum is up, when all the motion is stored in the desire to go. All the places it will go through, all the places it went through, stored in the mystery of the potential.

I had a lot of potential, so they said. Oh yeah, imma be great, they cheered. Oh, that’s awesome, I thought. But yet, here I am, mid thirties still hanging. Oh god, I hate it how the individuality of letters don’t do justice to the communality of feelings. Yes, I’m a pendulum that won’t just go already. I want to mean something, be a tick, or a tok, be a wrecking ball, leave a trace in the sand, anything. I’m waiting. But that’s the whole point, I’m all about potential. A friend once asked: “don’t you just love it when things finish?”. No, I hate it. I hate the orgasmic drop of alive that bursts only to vanish. I’m all about the arousal, but what will become of it, I hate attending to.

But, if you don’t swing, you don’t leave a trace in the sand. I expected to leave complex patterns, lines of motion that transformed the universe itself, connecting stars to humans, and people with eachother. I expected a lot more from life. Now I’m only waiting for a gentle push.