The bartender, he studies rocks…

To me, rocks are broken ground and being grounded is home.
I want to sprawl, I want to wail, I want to know there is ground under me.
But I must tidy the ground under me, I must finish my work, I must ensure the ones I care for are cared for so
instead, I carry ground with me.
to feel at ease,
to control what can’t be controlled
to satisfy the illusion.

We all carry stones to know that we are alive, to build something with what once was… this time, maybe more beautiful.
The bag of stones, it shapes us. We are who we are because of it. We cannot put it down, We will race to pick it back up until we are trained to walk without it, until we feel safe enough to walk without it, to become someone else

The duty of routine is a stone.
The coarseness of dreams deferred rubs against it in the bag.
I am unsettled, I am undone.