Doom-scrolling I nightly travel without moving
Wishing time away
Wishing myself away
Wishing me to be any me but ME
Doom-scrolling I saw a tiny house in the woods
Wishing myself elsewhere
In that place, that time, that life
That life – that me that would never be *me*
Doom-scrolling I saw a writers hut
Wishing myself in it, worthy
In my mind, my heart, my soul
Doom-scrolling I saw it rolling easily towards the house
Wishing things were straight and easy
In a place made to fit, made for ease, made for understanding
And in that moment
In knew
Desire and Rage and Sorrow and Hope
Longing and Envy and Sadness and so SO much grief
For that which
Is not
Was not
Could not be
For the shape of that which never was
All crystallised in the idea, the image, the video-reel, of of a writers cabin on rails
Taking itself home at night to a place that was prepared for it
And I pause and weep brief silent tears
And breathing in
Let out, let go
And scroll on