the sea anemone in me

Too needy, too reliant.

I'm not even the same person anymore I once was, not in a good matured-grown way,
in a forgotten way. In a tragic way.

Once part of an island sinks below the water it usually stays put, it's not definite, it's not lost forever, but visiting is a task, a day-trip, that's just the kind of time I don't have.

Everyplace I go I sprout new anchors, every inch of me is sprouting, one for each and every place and person and ache and wish and desire. Slowing me, slower, slower, slower.

Aside from time, it's such risky business, all these anchors would surly be more at home in the depths and dig themselves in, do their jobs, do just what they are meant to. Do just what's expected of them, fulfillment, achievement.

I'm still waiting to feel like the person everyone keeps describing when they tell me about myself.