So many people, places, things I feel anchored to pushing and pulling and weighing each for its own benefit, the fulfillment of its own agenda. Things I've wanted to keep have been torn from me and everything I'd kill to shed remains bound. Sometimes it seems a reasonable task to keep on, mostly I find myself lacking; repeating every sentiment positive or negative, living in shifts like the ocean's tides. Maybe we all operate this way, but it seems others get further along on their paths and I somehow remain, sore and bruised and growing a quiet rage, harboring a gentle hatred that I've not learned to use for anyone's advantage. It remains pure and private as a memento of everything that's broken and all the negative spaces waiting to be filled.

I need the ocean, she fills the holes in me. She clears out the cobwebs, she pushes and pulls and my blood responds and reacts and everything in me tingles and sways. She enters each of my senses and establishes a common rhythm all throughout, brings me back together when I've drifted and come apart. She's refreshing and light but I come away full and calm. I need the ocean.

What things are within my reach to change or alter? Learn to focus my energies on that. So much of me is spent despairing and reaching for things I know I can't grasp, all of that me can surely be put to better use. I'm maybe not ready to reach for the sun, but I think I can at least take my eyes off the dirt.

Slow and steady. Stop trying to race, sit back, breathe. There are lessons hidden all throughout, at every phase. The transitions always tear me up, as I find myself adapting to one trick you begin something new. It gets impossible to tell which way is up, which direction will carry me home.

Make lists, document, make improvements: there's always room in here. Open myself at least to myself and be honest and don't stop moving, even if it's terrible.