can't rain all the time

The frogs are happy. There is one small spot of pink in the mess of climbing roses that I can see from my bedroom door. The world is grey. I remember a time when the world was grey all the time. I liked it. Ignorance being bliss. I miss bliss. Not a shred of innocence left in me. My insides have been spoiled. I can feel the rot from the inside slowly spreading throughout my body with every pump of my heart. At least it's beating. Little victories. Small wonders. Just enough to keep plugging on. It's better when I don't slow down. Don't look around too much. Too many details are just distraction. I forget my purpose. I miss it. That is all. Missing. The smell of salt. The ocean. How one feels so small when standing next to the ocean. Ears full of the roar of something older than all this superficial bullshit. Wiser, too. So much time wasted missing out on what it feels like to be comfortable in this skin, without apology for being, with pride. So much time wasted looking for something "out there" when the answer has always been so close. It was inside all the time. So close as to be invisible. Lurking in a blind spot. Silent. Watching. Waiting. Hoping.