Limits

I am standing here looking out the window to myself.

Not the myself I will be tomorrow

but the myself I am today.

As I look out this window to myself,

All I can feel is the wind on my face.

And that is all I care about.

Or try to care about.

I don't care about the tables at which I sat

or the fields on which I played

or the lots in which I celebrated everything that exists through this window to myself.

I care about what I feel

on my face

and in my nose and my hair.

And I try not to care about what I see.

I try not to think about the fact that I will never look through this window to myself

and have it look the same.

But I can still feel the feeling.

Because the wind feels happy and the scene looks sad.

Not sad sad. Happy sad.

But happy sad is the worst kind of sad.

Because you are happy because you are sad.

And you cannot focus on feeling sad because you want so badly to be happy.

But the want makes you sad.

The want to be happy makes you sad.

It makes you sad because you cannot want something so intensely that it becomes a need and not feel at least a little bit sad.

When if you did not try so hard or want so hard or need so hard to be happy then you would be.

So I am going to look out this window but I am not going to see.

I am not going to see the things that I someday will be unable to see.

I am going to feel.

I am going to feel because there are limits to what we can see.

But there are no limits to what we feel.