Driftwood

When all is said and done, too much is said and not enough is done.
But words fade like newsprint memories and actions are condensed into summaries.
I wish I could unwrap the present with a sense of anticipation, but these boxes are a burden and weigh me down as I move around. When gravity waves me down, I head down to the waves and gaze past the shore hoping with a heavy heart.

Wondering if I will someday find the moments that don’t need to be placed in stories to be remembered. The free floating and always supporting sense of self that comes from active living which is a way of life, not escape from strife. And I wonder, if I were to find it,

Would you drift with driftwood?
Or sink with stones?

I don’t think you would.
I expect I’ll be alone.