Phase

I think I’m escaping.

Like I’m sinking into distractions.

Feeling the pervasive dwindle of my connection to reality.

Understanding that existence takes many stages.

Transitions and tipping points.

Phases.

I am phasing.

I want this to feel like the movies feel.

A cinematic romance to growing pains.

Like the girl cutting her hair and starting a new job.

Like meeting new friends in a new city.

Like a breakup and a hoe phase.

I want this to move me.

But this moment is still.

Quiet as the days pass.

I’m surrounded by reminders to act.

Physical and metaphorical targets to achieve.

But I’m phasing.

Navigating through the thick of a fog settled here to protect my outcome.

A possible loss through miscommunication.

So I phase discreetly.

Like the tinted limo I cross my ankles in, I am en route unassumingly.

I’m phasing.

Engrossed in shows and ideas and emotions–

I am in a constant flow of unmistakable transference.

To feel as I’m led and to do as I’m called.

It’s evolution.

Desiring new while remembering what’s been good.

I’m phasing.

Feeling differently.

Optimistic of what’s to come with less focus on the how or the when.

Staying with myself and reflecting through art.

I am phasing.

Creating pleasure myself.

Not following through if I need to.

Shifts in perspective adorning me when I enjoy my own company.

This is good.

I’m phasing right now.

Being gentle.

Giving myself the room to breathe and to think.

To feel and to grow.

To make plans and to erase them.

To hone in.

To phase.