Day by day, I am realising that I do not really know you. It both intrigues and frightens me - more of the latter, and I jolt with the reminder that, in fact, I do not know you. I only know the parts I bother to see, but how do I try to uncover what I don't know?
Day by day, I also realise that our tree has no roots. It's like we built a building without bothering with the foundations underground; like we added floors before the cement even hardened.
This frightens me because when you take a dive like that, the only place you can go from there is back up, your eyes red from the salt, your body hurting from the impact.
Day by day I become more and more reluctant and afraid. Considering aloof, safe hermitism, where I do not let anything touch and prick me. Or perhaps the opposite - being friends with anyone and everyone and keeping myself too occupied to remember that none of them are close. Where I keep to the safe hard ground, because the floor is the only thing I can trust, and I make myself forget the exhilaration and the importance of being completely immersed in the sea.
(afterthought: I click 'Publish' and then I look up from the screen and see pictures of people who matter. People I haven't caught up with in so long but who still bother, who still love me, with whom I meet up and it's like time hasn't passed. This is why I need all the strings of photos in my room - to remind me of the people that I keep in my heart's treasure box.)