9.29.22 // Potential

Potential.
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The capacity, the opportunity, the future.
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Pulling me away from the present, pulling me away from the reality, pulling me away from the truth.
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But potential is sweet, almost sickly so like a sugar cube melting on my tongue, driving me wild with a rush of excitement. The individual grains of the cube dance in the chaos of possibility- frolicking and freeing, yet caging and controlling. Addictive in its existence, but even more all-encompassing in my choice to partake.
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But just like the sugar melting on my tongue and slowly sinking into my system, the lust for potential, while intoxicating and tempting, comes with an inevitable crash from heaven.
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Plummeting back down to earth, the taste of the sugar on my tongue becomes a memory, and the potential I held on to drifts away, replaced by reality.
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The crash is harsh but the high is sweet.
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But then again, so is reality.
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Why do I yearn for potential and probability, when right now is fragile and full of tranquility?
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The narratives we write and the sugar we partake, leave us nothing short of drained and full of heartbreak.