Unbearable

"In the mind of a woman for whom no place is home the thought of an end to all flight is unbearable."
-- quote from The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Maybe that was me.
A shifting drifter who's not meant to fit in anywhere. I lack the necessities needed to belong to a community, I'm too in my head, too aloof, too inside my own individual self trying to sort my insides out.
I won't force it.
I will not bend my malleable self into a perfect shape to fill the vacant spaces. I'm not that person anymore, I know better.
Instead I will travel endlessly, take in all that I can. Breathe in life, breathe out meaning.
Life is not an island.
No, it is not. That I know.
But some lives are islands. Stranded in the middle of an ocean with no escape.
And the commonalities that connect us, the bridges that span waters that seem to stretch to infinity-- music, the arts, literature, poetry, all of the aesthetics of the world are my blood supply, their blood supply, the fluid in our veins keeping us alive.
We'd fly forever but we can't because we're merely kites, complete with strings anchoring us to our islands, and we can never fly unless the wind's just right.

P.S. Sorry I haven't been writing. I've been feeling lousy. My brain is too cluttered and I often feel as though I have nothing worthwhile to say so I just sit and write down quotes on scrap pieces of paper and paint the future inside my head.