Stumbling

I am always stumbling. I stumble so much there should be a specific name for it. I think that if I could stumble off the edges of the world, I would pull it off. But the world is without edges, without clear limits and gauges, and this round-smoothness is likely the culprit for all my stumbling. I am slipping. I am constantly sliding into countries I don’t understand at inopportune moments, and I am rolling into strangers without an invitation. I am tripping over my own shoelaces, forgetting that some things might need order. The world has order. Circular order. I am always thinking, Things are different now. I am different now. Everything will be different now, and things are indeed different but at the same time are still very much the same. It is this same that I stumble over. I sail blithely over the unfamiliar but capsize among the familiar. One could say I am not so good at life. I am a stumbler. I am forever stumbling. I am gathering bruises and cuts. I am a mess. I am catastrophe. I am a train wreck waiting to happen. Nevermind that. I am a train wreck that has already happened. Thrice. Perhaps if I didn’t like to walk so much, I wouldn’t stumble so often.

That being said, I think I’ll go for a walk. The cracks in the sidewalk are surely wondering where I’ve been.

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