"I could be you,"

I mutter as I pass the moon-faced teenager, cocking her head at the world while slightly aloof. No doubt she's built up a library of interesting experiences, and adds to them every day, as she traverses the sidewalk or steps into an alternate spatial realm.

I found the world bland and lacking sensuality, as a teen. Today, I'm just thankful to get by unscathed.

But that girl in the white jumper is right: what matters most is not how you can cajole people to regard you highly through status signals, but how you feel about your everyday moments. Can you keep mentally enriched even as you reach for your bus card, wave it over the electronic equipment, and step out of the robust rectangular prism, only to be fleetingly surrounded by its smoke for the short period of time it takes for it to pass you by?

Alive to experience: mindful of a pain that goes as deep as your pleasure.

Stream of Consciousness #4

I enjoy myself as best I can. My subconscious is a happy land.

The leaf-dappled branches pile high. Brushing my face, a contented sigh.

Spring's one step closer - walk into the night.

Never yield to disruptive demands.

I set the pace. I bide my time.

Return to the breath and the goodwill, entwined.

Accept your disinterest. And honour the host.

She is me, I am her - we matter the most.

Señorita. She maintains that name like it's going out of fashion.
I tiptoe around titles. I don't want to vex her.
But if she were me, a long ago version
I'd hold her close and let her be one more 'person'
Mx is unhappy that she's in that culture war
But he'll take the option that dares to be more

Reality shifting, lowering nooses
Deep down they know the pain has its uses
Hoping they'll move past the pain at some point
Switching back to momentum of preferable sorts