flâneur

the hunger to be everything. - by amber. - odetoapoet

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“ Oh, to wake up grateful for the pulse in my neck; to meet the mirror without dread. I need to be enough—for myself. “ How lost we are, in the virtuality of life. They told us we are lucky, to live in an era of endless doors; of infinite selves waiting to be summoned with a scroll, a post, or a step-by-step transformation. But no one warned us of the disease it carries. Of how too much possibility can fray the edges of a person. Our skin aches for mornings that begin with the light of dawn and not that of a screen. Before our feet touch the earth, our eyes have already wandered into someone else’s world. We didn’t notice when we stopped living and began watching others. We’ve become spectators of everyone and participants in nothing of our own. We compare the raw underbellies of our own existence to another’s highlight reel. Our hopes now bloom from envy. Our bodies grow estranged. And I have become a graveyard of personas. Restless in the presence of simple pleasures. Always terrifie

“ Oh, to wake up grateful for the pulse in my neck; to meet the mirror without dread. I need to be enough—for myself. “ How lost we are, in the virtuality of life. They told us we are lucky, to live in an era of endless doors; of infinite selves waiting to be summoned with a scroll, a post, or a step-by-step transformation. But no one warned us of the disease it carries. Of how too much possibility can fray the edges of a person. Our skin aches for mornings that begin with the light of dawn and not that of a screen. Before our feet touch the earth, our eyes have already wandered into…

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