I want to stop wanting. I want to stop saying I want to do this, I want to do that.
I want to stop thinking I want to go here, I want to see this. I want to feel that.
I want to stop dreaming. I want to experience things, live some kind of life.
I want to stop wishing. Wash away the ifs, the maybes and the could have beens.
I just want to stop wanting.
You realise I’m still wanting as I’ve used ‘wanting’ twice minus this and ‘want’ thirteen times, plus this, with more to come.
I need to stop that and start living. Then I can say I have done this, seen this, and lived that.
Every night I close my eyes, my perfect life starts, dreams upon dreams, all nice and sweet.
There isn’t a night a nightmare has lingered around. It’s been a decade and counting.
Life is perfect, with my eyes shut. I want perfect with my eyes open as well.
There we are again, with wants; which are very well known to be insatiable. A bottomless pit.
We can want, we can crave, we can desire. We can choose to feed our needs or we can let them starve.
It won’t kill us, it won’t maim us. It passes, and normal prevails.
Normal prevails! No, that’s the winds that are procrastination and escapism.
It’s comfortable, it doesn’t itch, and neither does it hurt. That’s the normal.
But when it passes, when it all passes you by, that’s when you wake up.
That’s when you realise that wanting, and not experiencing isn’t living.
That’s when you get to know your normal is wanting and wanting isn’t enough.
It’s the normal that I’m fighting with, that normal, my normal.
My normal is a liar, my normal is a cheat. It’s the ugly devil in disguise.
My normal feels procrastination is the safest zone. Stall until it’s alarmingly close.
Stall until it’s about too late, and then, pass. “You can’t do it, it’s too late now.”
My normal thinks silence is the best cure, the best revenge, the harbinger of time.
They say time heals, right? If time heals, then silence feeds time.
Shut out everything deafening and let the tide pass, for with time it passes.
The life we ought to live isn’t in the shelter, it’s the tide.
Either you wet your hair, soil your hands and tighten your sails.
Or cower and lament after, wish upon the horses and want what you can’t get.
Watch as others build empires and wonder if they serve a different God.
You start questioning your destiny, your luck and everything around you.
You drown, for the storm knows no shelter, as you never learnt to navigate the tide.
Water through your nose, water in your lungs, you fill up.
You either realise you are dying and fight, or give up and sink.
The beauty about life is there’s always a saviour at the shore, waiting.
Family, Jesus, stranger or friend. You won’t see the saviour but they’ll see you.
I don’t want to first get on that ship to realise I should have done most of the work on land.
I don’t want to regret not having sifted through rubble and dust for the gem that is life.
I don’t want to be reminded I didn’t walk enough on the ground beneath my feet.
I don’t want to chase the moon and the sun when it’s too late.
I don’t want to want. I just want to live. And live I shall.