Silverfish

The Universal Medicine

I saw the future and it is deteriorating.

Why must it be so difficult to slip into the middle? Slow and with such ease, like that delicate wandering they do in the afternoons. They take their time, strategically stepping in between each petal and twig, twisting and turning like some real-life jigsaw puzzle. And along with all of this confusion the sun still continues to beat down on them, relentlessly.

But do note the world is not entirely some relentless force like I'd always insisted, long before understanding myself and before those few years of the other side. No, it is in fact quite balanced, a frustrating conclusion that would perhaps put many at ease.

It does not hold the same effect for myself.

And because of this balance I must now envy it. This seemingly unattainable cure-all for the world, a universal medicine.

It is this long ideal that floats between the massive redwood–like the wanderers–with direction and determination. Their destination an even, clean cut one against the dancing forest floor. Brush attempting to, albeit subtly, reach out and grab their feet, but they persist onwards.

Somehow they know their wonderful fate.

I am haunted by the very thought of a consistent reality; one in which never fails to follow its winding path. It stays regulated with that uncanny balance and duality, that perfect system we should all follow.

I want my answer to be there's, I want to look to nature and know she has a plan for me, that her idea is my own. But this reflection is tinted and cracked, and every time I look in it chips, small fragments hit the floor and lightly shatter.

The pieces are much too small to pick up so I leave them there and turn away. It is not until a few days later that I forget all about this endeavor and cut my foot on the broken glass, remembering suddenly.

This fear is difficult to project, and instead I take it with me and hide behind beauty and infatuation.

The old woman across from the bench in which I contemplate at stares back at me; she knows about my laments. I know she does, for she glances between myself and the forest behind her, as if to tell me something.

Today, however, she sits next to me on the bench. I immediately turn away from this odd company and pull myself inwards, my eyes burning into the pavement below us.

Eventually she shifts her weight in my direction and whispers to me, "Don't worry–remember the nature of the seasons. They will never be stagnant."