Day to Day

It's not often I can find a breath of fresh air where my mind isn't pursuing at least five paths of thought, my heart invested in at least four of them.
On days like these, my insides feel purged by the sting of a scorpion.  They burn, a slow intensifying heat, threatening to rip me in half, starting from the sternum.

I write.  I speak.  I paint.
People respond.  They connect.  They feel.

Yet what rests below is more than the sum of my parts.  I say nothing in truth, yet my soul yearns to say everything.

Today, it is physically debilitating.

Tomorrow, I'll wake up and hopefully it won't hurt so much.