Window Sill

Two hands on the window sill, leaning over the ledge looking out over the street. Rocking back and forth. How many window ledges have I to look out over? It doesn't matter. Each is different. This one's black. Now. From such moments of infinity and life to those of darkness and death. And I feel them all. I feel each second. Trying to run for cover when those catches of drowning set it. But that's not the point. Running is never the point. Having that break, shift of consciousness is the point. Becoming mentally better and stronger and less reliant on everything that is fleeting, including emotions. That's where the internal stability comes in, that inner peace. That inner breath of Godwhole.