Meanwhile.
We all know the... word(s)? The expression? Meanwhile. It's two words scrunched up close together to make a new word.
Kinda like meantime, except that a meantime - as in 'the meantime' - is more like a 'something' that you can be inside of and experience directly and personally. A meanwhile, on the other hand, feels more like an outside observation of a meantime.
I've come to realize lately that the meantimes of my life that I feel compelled to share might not be easily given away... in that they're easy to give, but maybe not so easy to. receive. They're abstract. Maybe they're too mine and not enough yours, and therefore can't be yours, or anyone else's. That makes me a little sad, if that's the case.
But what the fuck do I know? I'm making all this shit up as I go along.
Anyway.
I've always assumed that the feelings that spring out of all of these moments I feel will naturally wind up seeping into the soil of future hours, taking root there and spreading the information of my experiences into and throughout a more or less timeless condition, conducive to a specific type of existence called being human.
I'm not so sure about that now, and that makes me nervous, and anxious, and unsure... and it hurts, too.
We all know the... word(s)? The expression? Meanwhile. It's two words scrunched up close together to make a new word.
Kinda like meantime, except that a meantime - as in 'the meantime' - is more like a 'something' that you can be inside of and experience directly and personally. A meanwhile, on the other hand, feels more like an outside observation of a meantime.
I've come to realize lately that the meantimes of my life that I feel compelled to share might not be easily given away... in that they're easy to give, but maybe not so easy to. receive. They're abstract. Maybe they're too mine and not enough yours, and therefore can't be yours, or anyone else's. That makes me a little sad, if that's the case.
But what the fuck do I know? I'm making all this shit up as I go along.
Anyway.
I've always assumed that the feelings that spring out of all of these moments I feel will naturally wind up seeping into the soil of future hours, taking root there and spreading the information of my experiences into and throughout a more or less timeless condition, conducive to a specific type of existence called being human.
I'm not so sure about that now, and that makes me nervous, and anxious, and unsure... and it hurts, too.
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