The Sponge
Time waters me down. It saturates everything. Like a sponge I soak it up, taking everything in no matter what color the slop. I need some more time to be wrung out. I am not the resilient sponge that I once was. My life now demands I wait patiently, holding the waterlog until the strong winds come, or until I can go to the desert where the sun dries me out. I miss the resiliency of my youth, those long days of endless absorbing, and those restful nights of complete emptying. Why is it life becomes heavy? Could this be the price of holding on?
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